Of Atonement And Salvation: The End Times
by SJKANDIL94
Summary: As the End Times near, a skaven clan grows desperate in their attempt to stop the inevitable tide. An alliance of necessity is formed as all walks of life converge on this beacon of defiance. An ex witch hunter, scarred by his past is forced to rally under a new banner. As darkness covers the world & all he holds dear is gone, the battle for humanity & salvation is put to the test.
1. Introduction

**This story contains intense depictions of graphic violence and sexual content. You have been warned.**

Of Atonement And Salvation: The End Times

An Introduction

Written By S. J. Kandil

The struggle for survival appeared unending through the bewildered eyes of Thavan Vanamar. It was times like these in which he pondered upon his situation, a very precarious one indeed. The Skaven Packmaster before him shrieked a cacophonous symphony of hatred and curses as the human crumpled to the ground.

"Do you want me to use the whip? Yes-Yes!"

Phlegm and blood exited his gaping maw as stained yellow teeth chittered and clattered together. The packmaster raised his studded glass infused whip and cracked it into the ground. Thavan rose. His deteriorating arms shambled upward meekly. It was for naught. Soon after, he fell, chained to the pedestal once more.

The belligerent Skaven screamed while his black beady eyes watched his captive with malice. The whip cracked backwards, then drove towards his bare back. It met its target as Thavan screamed. The studs dug into the skin and ripped outward releasing a crimson flurry of blood and body fluids pooling around his delirious figure. He laid there on that prison floor, chained to the ground, unable to escape his torment.

It was moments like these that drove his mind elsewhere, away from the never-ending pain. To another world that was just as ravenous as his reality.

# # # #

Thavan had everything he needed and more. The inevitable promotion to captain and a squad of his own would paint a path to greatness...or so he believed. In truth, it was nothing more than a portent of doom. A route of that which led to damnation. Damnation stamped upon the day of Thavan's promotion in the year 2515.

He stood in front of a mirror in his home within a small town in the northern province of Ostland. His town known as Stäntrhein straddled the southeastern corner of the province. All of these lands were under the jurisdiction of the Empire.

Thavan had just finished placing his wide black brimmed hat on top of his head. A very common item worn by the majority of witch hunters, if not all of them. He was also adorned in a black cloak made of fine linens but also inlaid with magical properties. Should he be shot or stabbed in the back, the cloak would protect the brunt of the attack.

His buckled tunic ensured his military trousers would remain upright and not baggy. Upon his tunic were 4 imperial purity seals. A wax seal with the markings of the twin tailed comet held the sacred pieces of parchment to his chest. They dangled down and either detailed passages or phrases from their holy books. Or shed light on his awards. Such as his many victories over the vampires of Sylvania. Thavan was a well known vampire hunter in these parts.

If one noticed, his trouser leggings were tucked away inside his kneecap high steel toed boots. They served two purposes; one was to ensure no dirty water or other unwanted fluids got into his boots. And also, to stymie the spread of disease. Less visible skin was a boon to him. A thin layer of chainmail underneath his tunic rounded out his uniform.

One rather bizarre quality of Thavan's outfit rested within the confines of his color. Most around him wore uniforms of varying shades of brown to gray. He on the other hand was wearing all black. A very unique look to one who follows The Cult of Sigmar. Perhaps the church within the town intended to drive even more fear into those that were guilty?

Thavan observed his facial features. His short black hair was nearly concealed over his top hat. A thick but trimmed black beard hung a few inches from his face. His gray oval shaped eyes appeared resolute as they scanned every detail upon his countenance.

He ran his gloved hands over his round cheeks. Observing ones body for any sign of chaos manifestation was tantamount to a life of safety. On each morning that passed without the slightest inkling of chaos corruption, Thavan bowed his head, clasped his hands together and praised his patron God Sigmar. This was a ritual he performed everyday. Only a few knew of his secret. He hoped it was something he would take with him to the grave.

His second chance was granted to him. It was something he would not squander. A life of service to The Empire of Man would be his ticket to atonement, and saving those from what he suffered is all that mattered to him.

When Thavan concluded his observation of himself, he placed a few repeater pistols along his bandolier and a couple stakes. He then placed his falchion inside its sheath and grabbed a few potions and medicinal supplies, stuffing them into his many pockets.

As he exited his house he glanced skyward. The heavens were gloomy as dark gray and black clouds circled along the horizon. A storm is coming.

Along the cobblestone road Thavan walked. Every morning Thavan appreciated his stroll through the streets of Stäntrhein. The journey was always so calm and peaceful. It was a small city within the confines of the Empire. This was the place he called home. And it was his duty to protect those who lived within these walls.

It was still far to early in the morning for most of the inhabitants of the town. That fact held weight as Thavan witnessed only a carriage or two moving along the main road that the majority of the populace used in their daily lives. All was tranquil at this time of hour.

As Thavan approached the center of town he neared The Grand Cathedral of Sigmar. Its majestic Gothic spires rose onward several hundred feet into the sky. Beneath the spires at the front of the structure was a massive ornately detailed stained glass window depicting the twin tailed comet. Supporting this titanic building that dwarfed everything around it were flying buttresses jutting out like arms holding up the foundation to our salvation.

Leading up the stairwell were two massive twenty foot tall doors made of lacquered cherry wood. They stood open as a few patrolmen walked out of the cathedral. They passed on by Thavan, avoiding eye contact.

As Thavan entered the cathedral he paused to admire the interior. Row upon row of pews lined the church leading down to the altar. Above the altar carved into the building was the circular apse. A detailed painting of Sigmar standing proud over a battlefield was etched into the apse. Below that were the windows around the apse shining light into the interior. Along either side of the interior were large hand made iron crosses with skulls detailed on their centers hanging on the walls. The attention to detail was evident on each little cut and engraving. It was immaculate.

A handful of church clergy were preparing for the morning ceremony. Witch hunters and soldiers moved in between the pews, heading toward their destinations. All were filled with purpose as they worked methodically for a future untouched by chaos.

Thavan lollygagged long enough. He pressed on to the far right corner of the building. There was a set of double doors in this walled off section. It was rather dull. Nothing was out of the ordinary. As Thavan entered, the bell at the top of the door rung. Turning to greet him was a familiar face.

Seated within a chair with papers in his hand was Thavan's ex teacher and mentor Darrik Goddenine. "Well look who it is, Thavan Vanamar. Or should I say Captain Vanamar?" Goddenine took a sip of coffee from his mug and placed a filed row of papers upon his desk.

"Now now." Said Thavan with raised hands in a defensive posture. "It would be wise to refrain from saying that to certain individuals. Or, perhaps everyone you see."

"Why not?" Countered Darrik. His eyes stared like piercing rays of light through Thavan.

"Because, were it not for you I would have never survived long enough to become anything. Your teachings were the basis upon which I learned everything. And through all that, many have grown to despise my accomplishments. Some would see fit that I were eliminated from the equation."

"Indeed." Said Goddenine grimly. "But it was you who executed each mission flawlessly. That is more than I can say about some of these men employed under us. And as for what you stated, I dare one of these fools to ever lay a finger on you. They may speak of ill things behind closed doors but they are cowards. They would never do something to jeopardize those who follow this holy order."

Thavan ignored his words. "One can never be to certain. There are those within this empire who wish to see me fall. The promotion to captain only seals that deal. And should they see any opportunity for me to have an 'accident,' well, you know the rest."

Goddenine put his papers within the desk and took another swig of the near boiling fluids. "Are you so filled with fear that you are letting it get the best of you? These worms should not concern you. Whether they conspire or not. Those within the empire know where your allegiance lies."

Thavan acknowledged him and thanked the man. They both shook hands as Goddenine stood. Darrik Goddenine was a tall man, standing roughly six feet and four inches. He towered over most before him. He had medium length graying hair combed over along the side. A growing bald spot rested near the top. His features were lined with a multitude of scars and wrinkles. Spending countless years as a witch hunter ensured his life was filled with strife.

Were it not for the injury he sustained several years ago he would not be working in this church. He preferred being out in the field. There was a severe gimp to his right foot with each step he took. He would surely be more of a hindrance to his men than an aid. A fact he grimly accepted.

Goddenine yawned. "Now then, let's get down to business. Here is your key to the lock box. Due to the secretive nature of this assignment and the lack of info granted to me when they dispensed the contracts, it is presumed that whatever you are about to embark on is classified information on a need to know basis. Whatever you are granted, I would be leery of who I share that paperwork too."

Thavan felt a lump in his throat as he watched the key dangle from Goddenine's hand. From the chain it moved rhythmically back and forth. He gripped it as they both nodded to one another.

Thavan left the office behind and entered the following room. Hundreds of steel lock-boxes lined the hall down multiple isles. His key was engraved with the twin comet and the number 214 etched into its base.

He walked down the usual route he took toward the lock box each morning. Today felt different though. Darrik Goddenine's words did not ease him. Upon finding 214 he glanced around the hall as his heart started racing. Nobody was within sight of him. It was all so eerily quiet.

 _What is going on with me?_ He pondered. _Why the sudden fear? Was it because I knew this would be my first mission commanding others_? Fear was an annoying nuisance that he would put to bed now.

As the key slid into the lock he turned it halfway. The tumblers fell into place as they clicked. He turned the small handle and opened the box. Sitting inside was a lone letter sealed by a wax stamp depicting an iron cross with crossed hammers and a skull in between both.

Thavan pulled the letter from the box and extracted a short blade from its sheath upon his chest. He cut the seal in one slice and sheathed his weapon. He retrieved the letter and began diligently reading the contents within.

 _Dear Vanamar_

 _We regret to inform you that your first mission as Witch Hunter Captain will not be within the confines of Stäntrhein. What we are about to disclose to you is for your eyes only. We cannot begin to stress to you how important this is._

 _North of this city lies a mining town called Tovven. You may have heard of it. We have been hearing strange reports coming from this town as of late. There are claims that humans have gone missing within these mines. Those who have been found were no longer recognizable. They were nothing more than chewed apart scraps of bone with drippings of sinew and muscle. Some of the individuals within the town claim it is the rat-men._

 _Do you understand how dangerous this is? If our soldiers cannot protect our people within our own borders, then what use are we? The council leaders of Tovven will be dealt with accordingly. But that matter is for another time._

 _This is where you come in Thavan. It is your duty as a witch hunter to dispel such heresy. Rat men? Preposterous. They are mad if that is what they believe. There is no such thing as that. So, glean whatever information you may from the inhabitants of that town, then find whatever is harming them and remove its presence. You may use whatever means are necessary to cleanse that mine._

 _You will be accompanied by two other witch hunter captains along with their squadrons of troops. If you did not see before then perhaps now you realize the importance of this matter?_

 _We leave it to you_

 _The Inner Circle_

Thavan appeared visually shocked as he read over its contents. His hands were coated with sweat. The flesh upon his face paled. The rapid beat of his heart only heightened the sensation he was feeling.

The Inner Circle were the leaders of this church he currently resided within. He didn't need them to express the importance of this mission. They oversaw everything that pertained to this city. Whatever was going on within Tovven was bad news for everyone.

The Inner Circle placed great importance over what lingered within those caverns below. The fact that two other captains would accompany him, only strengthened his beliefs.

As Thavan returned to Goddenine's room, his friendly demeanor instantly extinguished the moment he laid eyes upon Thavan. "Di...did something happen Vanamar?"

Thavan tried to regain his composure as he took in a deep breath within his lungs. "All is well. I just have a matter I must attend to before I depart. I'll see you later Darrik."

Leaving him no chance to reply, Darrik watched Thavan leave the room at a brisk pace. That was unlike him.

# # # #

Thavan eyed his repeater pistol, observing its rather immaculate detail. From the silver encrusted trigger and guard, to the hand-carved seal of the Cult of Sigmar emblem emblazoned upon its side. Everything was crafted with precision and concern. The black shiny finish glistened in the daylight sun. All was taken into account with the creation of this fine weapon.

Thavan was driven from his thoughts as another witch hunter captain gripped his shoulder, then pointed beyond. The mine was within their view. Nobody stood in its vicinity. A handful of hastily erected signs were placed strategically around the mine. All had the words 'closed until further notice' scrawled on them.

Thavan placed his firearm through his holster. He signaled his men to continue onward. They moved along the grassy ground until it gave way to dirt and mud. Then that too surrendered to rocks and stone. It all seemed so eerily peaceful walking out here with the stars warm rays touching the back of Thavan's neck.

But as his mind journeyed toward the interrogations yesterday, shortly after they entered the town, his mind was filled with wonder. Every individual he questioned who had delved into the mine was stricken with an intense fear so great that he was bewildered by their actions and features. Their faces were genuinely terrified. All one needed to do was stare through their manic filled eyes to see what was going on. It was like a mirror, reflecting all the horror back at him.

These same results applied to his fellow captains interrogations. They insinuated and joked of heresy. That perhaps the peasants were losing their minds? But Thavan knew better than to humor them as he tasted rising bile in the back of his throat. Something didn't sit with him through all of this. The more and more he tried to part the veil of suspicion, he was left with more questions than answers. Superstition and fear were dangerous. It left him open to outside forces. But he also thought it would be wise to hearken the warnings of those peasants. For what they saw changed their lives forevermore.

As Thavan descended into the mouth of the cave, he knew there was no turning back. Daylight retreated as they passed into the darkness. The cave gradually went lower at a relatively slow pace. Some mining equipment was left where it stood, or the occasional pickax thrown by the wayside. Other than these few oddities and the sound of water dripping from above, it was rather normal but awfully quiet.

This continued for a few hours until the pathway became far more treacherous. It wound down into spiraling walkways carved through the earth. A few of the soldiers even tripped and slid, nearly causing a massive pileup that would surely end in somebodies death. Everybody were utilizing torches or lanterns now. This was the only means of illumination.

The cavernous maze of walls and stairwells were even more hazardous as time went on. It is like those who dug this were losing their minds the further in they went. Thavan was disturbed by this thought as he brushed it aside. It took them the better part of the day to finally reach the bottom. Thavan's face was coated in perspiration. His men were exhausted as they removed their helmets and sat to gather their strength.

One of Thavan's fellow captains strode toward him. A fowl scowl made it clear what was to be said. Hadran scoffed, "What is it with these soldiers? They think simply because we have found level ground they can rest?"

Thavan was prepared for this. "They are also wearing double the amount of armor compared to us. Give them a break. Have you seen your men recently?"

Hadran turned to see what he meant. Sure enough, his men were seated with Thavan's, enjoying a much needed rest.

"I know we are both new to this game, but they will follow. You and I have a lifetime of service to prove them that much." Thavan said through gritted teeth.

Hadran ruminated over his words. "Well, when you put it like that, I can't argue. I'll stand watch with Matthias. What are you going to do?"

Thavan cocked his head to the side and looked beyond their line of sight into the vast blackness. "I thought I heard something. It sounded of running water. We can fill our canteens if that's the case. Cold fresh water would be a nice treat for everyone. Don't worry yourself. I won't wander off too far."

Hadran nodded as he retrieved his own canteen and took a swig. "Are you sure you're fine on your own? By Sigmar it is rather ominous down here. Going alone doesn't sound safe."

Thavan turned to him and grinned mischievously. "Do I sense fear, Hadran?"

Hadran gripped his rapier and pressed it further within its sheath. It jingled against his armor and firearms. "Now hold it right there Vanamar. I have read that very same letter that you read as well. You must at the very least acknowledge something is ill with this whole situation. The rat men are a myth, nothing more. But if this is chaos, or beastmen, then we need more soldiers."

Thavan popped his knuckles. "Even I am weary of what may be lurking down here. The deeper we traversed this mine the tunnels were becoming increasingly hostile. And, to be honest, rather bizarre. Still, we cannot leave empty handed. Once we find proof we can make a decision from there. I will return shortly. Be mindful brother."

Thavan departed with his pistol in one hand and a torch in another. Hadran returned to the men. No matter what Thavan said, he could not simply sit by and think this was a simple procedure.

There was a faint odor in the air, one in which Thavan sniffed almost immediately. He couldn't make heads or tails of what it was though as he walked away from his men.

The fire burning from the torch brightened all around him. All he saw were rocks and the occasional chunk of ore. As he drifted even further from the group, the sound of running water grew louder and louder until he happened upon a stream. The water moved at a brisk pace as it rippled along the pebbles sticking above the water line. It looked so fresh and rejuvenating. Thavan's room temperature water in his pouch would not be able to compare to this.

Thavan smiled as he pulled his near empty flask of water from his pouch on his side. He got down on his knees and placed the flask in the stream. It was filled to the brim as he pulled it from the source. When the cool, invigorating fluids touched his dry lips, the sensation was a welcome reprieve. He swallowed the life-giving liquid and felt at peace.

A couple seconds passed by when Thavan noticed a strange sound further down the stream. It did not sound like the distinct tune of flowing water. To his ears it had a metallic ring. It was oft putting. Perhaps some of the mining equipment had fallen into the stream? Or something was lodged into the rock?

As Thavan walked further down the stream, his feet crunched rocks with each step. The bright light of fire lit everything in front of him. A cool breeze blew across the nape of his neck. Down here away from the rays of the sun, the weather was cool year round.

Once he got to the end, Thavan took another sip of that delicious water. When his eyes grazed across the scenery before him, he stopped dead in his tracks, spitting the fluids onto the rocky ground.

"Hadran, get over here now!" His scream was one filled of horror as the torch shone like a beacon, revealing the grisly scene for all. The echo of his voice reverberated through the cavern. Within moments everyone was running to his aid.

In front of Thavan Vanamar was a macabre scene of inhuman proportions. Nothing in his life could have prepared him for this unholy nightmarish union of undeath. Piled up along the stream in the form of a makeshift damn were an innumerable amount of bones and half eaten bloated corpses. The stench of decay became far more prevalent as he neared the horrific scene. Some of the bodies were lined along the shore. The holes in their armor were filled with maggots slithering inside a bounty of bluish tinged putrid flesh.

Thavan appeared visually nauseated as he saw the stream led further into a pit filled with pieces of flesh, blood, and bone in a small underground lake. There had to be hundreds filled within that watery grave. Some of their bones were gnawed clean. Others still had the muscle tissue sloughing from split open rib-cages. Particulates of their bodies and fluids mingled with the water.

"I was dead wrong on my assumption. This is the work of something far worse than I could have ever imagined." Thavan said through breathless lips.

Thavan dumped the contents of water as the other soldiers and Hadran followed in tow. "What is the matter Vanamar?" Yelled Hadran.

The man was visibly gasping for air as he neared him. His forehead shimmered with sweat as he bent over and breathed deeply for air in his lungs. The other men stopped and watched on in horror at the spectacle before them. Even Hadran silenced as he took wind of what was happening.

The other captain known as Matthias Burcken, a seasoned veteran in the arena of death, stood stoically and looked on. He had seen his share of nightmares in the world. The sight before him was no different than a casual conversation. He had sanctioned countless number of executions and witch hunts throughout his days. All ended in a great conflagration of flame.

Matthias had seen many 'loved ones' killed or eaten by monsters that roam their planet. To his eyes these witch hunter captains were grunts compared to what he had seen. His hands and world for that matter were stained in blood. This was but another obstacle in the game of life.

"We serve no purpose whining about the dead. By Sigmar's grace we will find this heretical group of animals and slaughter them to the last one. This is how we honor the fallen. Get moving, come on. We have a job to do." Matthias' voice was gruff and entirely devoid of compassion. His focus was the mission at hand and nothing else.

The men stood in formation. Behind their eyes there was a looming fear just below the surface. Thavan rallied his men to press onward. What were they getting into he pondered?

The men followed Thavan and the other captains until they arrived at a massive wall of rock. At this point of their journey it dead ended. There was no other pathway forward. Everyone was silent. They merely watched.

Thavan was unperturbed by this new predicament. He felt there was something not quite right about this gargantuan wall of rock. It was uncanny. Was he the only one picking up on this?

Some voiced their opinions of doubling back and trying an alternate route, but Thavan knew better. He was sensing a source that was amiss. He would take advantage of the situation if the option presented itself.

For several minutes they walked around the rock wall until Thavan blurted, "It's not real!"

Everyone turned to him. All looking at the man as if he were insane. "Explain." Said Matthias.

"This is an illusion. It is meant to trick us. If you believe it is real then it will surely be real. I am about to prove it wrong. I can sense the magic flowing in this area. It was what I picked up on. Watch."

Thavan charged forward, running in a beeline right for the wall. If his calculations were correct, the wall would scatter. But if they were wrong... Well, he would wake up with one of the worst concussions in his life.

Thavan passed the threshold of no return. He pressed on. His faith by his side. He launched himself right into the rock. At the moment of impact the rock wall gave way. Its formation altered and rippled, like gelatin. Once Thavan passed through, the entire wall pulsed and reacted unnaturally. This carried on for several seconds until it shattered like glass and dispersed from reality.

Several hundred feet of rock disappeared instantaneously. What lurked on the other side was not what anybody expected. Thavan stood in the middle of this new revelation. Roughly 200 or more feet beyond him were a set of two gargantuan doors carved into the rock. Even as Thavan looked upward, the light source only glowed for so far until there was nothing but blackness.

The other men walked to Thavan. Some of their faces seemed disturbed by what he understood. Had the rumors been true? Others like Matthias, were hiding behind a stonewall of nothingness. It was nigh impossible to read someone like him.

For a handful of tense minutes nobody said a word. Perhaps it was fear, or maybe apprehension? The answer was uncertain. Thavan broke the silence. "Do you see the architecture of those walls? That design is not of dwarfen artificers. Can anybody tell me what we are looking at?"

Nothing but silence came from the surrounding soldiers. Thavan's question fell on deaf ears.

Matthias walked past Thavan and made his commandment known. "Open these doors. We will find the answer we seek now."

Thavan felt dead weight hold him back. His stomach was constricting against him as he approached the man. "Look, Matthias this is not something we should take lightly. A magical barrier and walls crafted from an unknown race is not a good sign. Behind those walls we may encounter legions of enemies in this cavern. Our job is to protect these townspeople. But how will we do that if we wind up dead? It is in our best interest to report back to the city and wait for more orders."

Matthias turned to Thavan, eyeing him. "What outfit are you wearing?"

Thavan appeared visually puzzled by his question. "I don't follow."

"What does that uniform embody, Vanamar?" His voice was filled with agitation.

"It is a witch hunters uniform. I do not see the correlation to what you are getting at."

"Exactly." He said. "Why don't you start wearing it with pride for once in your pathetic life? You sound like those cowardly peasants. We have a job to do. I will finish it with or without you."

He walked past Thavan but not without ramming his shoulder into the man. He muttered under his breath, "Some witch hunter you are. Who the hell do they recruit now a days? Especially someone like you?"

"What was that?" Said Thavan as he holstered his pistol and clenched his fist. "If you have a problem with me and or my rank, then why don't you speak loud and clear for all to hear?"

All of the men remained silent as they watched this scene unfold.

"Are you raising your tone of voice with me? The others may acknowledge you as their ally, but all I see before me is a heretic fit for burning."

Thavan walked toward him until they were face to face. "I have given my life, no, my very soul to the Church of Sigmar. Every single breath that exhaled through my lungs was for this church. You only know what you choose to discern. The whole picture is there for anyone to see. But you've decided to live in fear. I would gladly die for Sigmar. I know where my loyalty lies."

Matthias nodded then looked directly into Thavan's eyes. "Good! Soon I will be rid of your presence permanently!"

Thavan gripped the man by his throat. He choked for air. He was just about to wind up for a punch, but fate had something else in store.

Both men stopped short of bloodshed as their eyes were forced to look upon the gates. They were groaning to life as heavy layers of dust fell from above. The mechanism working the gates screeched violently as the doors were slowly but surely forced open. Whatever lurked behind there had heard their argument.

Suddenly, a new noise assaulted their eardrums. The deep thrumming tone of a massive bell sounded high above the gates. As the doors parted further, Thavan gripped his head. The ringing sound pierced his skull, sending a mind numbing headache through his brain. The deep, resonating tune echoed like a gong each time the bell struck.

Thavan looked skyward and saw the titanic bell perched atop a tower several hundred meters above them. A tall individual clad in grey robes stood with one hand on a staff while the other held a rope. With each pull the bell rung louder.

Horns protruded from the top of its furry head in spiral patterns. Its eyes glowed a menacing putrid green. It was staring directly at Thavan. Its orbs were filled with malice and hatred for the human filth.

Surrounding the tower were massive bowls immolated in green flame, lighting the bell and that inhuman thing with its sickly hue. They crackled against a backdrop of blackness.

When the gates were completely open is when Thavan caught wind of its minions below. Hundreds, no thousands of glowing black and red eyes illuminated the darkness. They stood in formation. Waiting for the order to strike.

Upon the thirteenth toll of the bell is when the hooded one stopped. Bright green lights brightened the darkness before them, revealing the true sight of the horrors that awaited them.

A verminous horde of rats appeared. They stood upright just like their human counterparts. They were armed with weapons and shields. The creatures were stricken with a multitude of plagues and diseases. Some visible, others buried beneath the skin. Some of the rat men scratched at patches of fur covered with flees. While others dug at blood-boils atop scabbed crusty skin. Beneath the boils swam parasitical creatures of unknown origins.

The horned one screeched a horrific wail. Its gaping maw spat saliva as it roared to its followers. This sent its minions into a frenzy for human flesh. Even as Thavan pulled his firearm from its holster and rallied his men to his side, he knew this is where he would die.

The first round he fired belched smoke and powder as the explosion erupted and launched a ball of lead into the shoulder blade of his first target. The round fractured its bone and blew out the back of his opponent. Its right arm hung by strands of flesh as the skaven collapsed from blood loss and shock. The others trampled over their brother, crushing him beneath the feet of hundreds of bloodthirsty predators.

The second target got off easier than the first one. The following bullet flew through the top of his muzzle, breaking teeth and ripping through gums until it tore out through the back of his head. The troops behind him were showered in blood and gore. The body twitched and withered in grotesque positions as it fell to the ground below. Its hairless tail beat violently against the rocky earth until it suddenly halted. The stilled corpse dumped pints of crimson fluid onto the battlefield.

"Hold!" Bellowed Thavan as his men panicked. The sight of the encroaching horde was enough to scare anyone. They readied their halberds and swords, obeying his command.

Thavan fired every round from his auto musket until it clicked. He had no spare rounds to load. The weapon was now a needless encumbrance. He threw the firearm with extra force. The weapon hit the closest Skaven, breaking its jaw upon impact. Thavan unholstered two more pistols while his fellow witch hunters dropped scores of vermin until all of them were running out of ammunition.

There was no time to load more balls and black powder. As the nearest skaven was only a few meters from Thavan, the fight was about to get close.

The ratman screamed as he scampered forth and locked blades with Thavan. Their eyes stared into one another while saliva ran down its muzzle. Thavan screamed right back at him with bloodshot eyes. More blades clinked and clattered together as every man at the front of the line was drawn into mortal combat.

Thavan drew his foot back and kicked with all his might into his adversaries kneecap. That in turn severed the link between their blades and allowed him a counterattack. His hand forced the blade upward. With one flick of the wrist it slashed across the lining of his neck. Its dead eyes stared blankly as its head flung backwards. The sudden force tore the flesh from its head. The decapitated limb fell from its body as it lay crushed beneath the corpse.

The next one behind him was smaller and stunted in size, wearing nothing but tattered rags covering his genitals. It was armed with a very rusty sword, one that should have been put to rest ages ago. Thavan sidestepped his pitiful attempt at attacking and impaled the rat bastard upon his sword. With his left foot he braced it against the dying skaven's body and kicked off. He freed his sword as the corpse fell backward into the rising pile of bodies.

Thavan breathed deeply, sucking in large quantities of much needed oxygen. A moment of respite was granted to him as he wiped sweat from his brow. He'd been fighting for nearly an hour. The enemy forces showed no sign of relent. Exhaustion plagued his tiring figure.

But this moment would come to bite him. A spear man leaped over the mound and drove his weapon into Thavan's shoulder. The pointed end pushed several inches into his flesh. Blood oozed from the wound while Thavan growled between gritted teeth.

From Thavan's rear holster he retrieved a small single shot musket, took aim and fired, hitting the skaven spear man squarely in the throat. The grip on his weapon faded as he fell down the mound and landed on his back.

Thavan gripped the spear and tugged hard, removing the blade from his shoulder. He grunted from the pain but maintained his composure while a battle-medic rushed to his aid. He dropped the weapon and turned his attention to his enemy.

The skaven choked and gurgled on blood-filled lungs. It thrashed about until it saw Thavan walk toward it. Its eyes filled with fear as he watched it with no empathy. There was nothing behind his features but hatred. He placed his boot over its throat. It clawed at his foot as he applied increasing levels of pressure. Within a matter of moments its thrashing stopped as his advances ended with the crackling of vertebrae. Its windpipe was crushed. The skaven's arms fell back and hung loosely around the growing pool of blood from its throat. Another one was dead.

Thavan's ally applied a salve to the wound, to stymie the flow of crimson. Just as he finished his application, another skaven made its assault over the mound. It cleaved his head off with one swipe. A copious amount of blood burst from the orifice, covering Thavan's face in the hot fluids. He was blind. Thavan tried to move backwards but his senses were numbed.

His men came to his aid, covering him and pulling him to the rear. One of the soldiers wiped Thavan's face, clearing his field of vision.

Standing in front of him was Hadran, covered in rat blood and shredded armor."We must sound the retreat Thavan, before it is too late!"

Thavan shrugged. "Can't you see? It's already too late. They're faster than us and outnumber us. Our men are battered, exhausted, and wounded. This is our grave. Stand and fight until..."

Thavan was drawn from his sentence as he noticed a loud humming sound coming from behind the corpses. In an instant they rose and launched into his fellow soldiers, crushing and killing many in its magical wake. Standing in the middle of the opening were two individuals. The horned one in grey robes, wielding a staff of deadly magic and his second in command. He was a burly warlord. His pitch black fur was cleaner than the front-line troops. He was adorned with black platemail and a large serrated sword and shield. His armor glistened with sparkling detail. He was unlike the others Thavan had fought.

With the barrier now destroyed, scores of rats descended upon them. Those who fell had their eyes plucked from their screaming faces. The rats gorged on them. The balls popped like exploding cherries sending eye jelly running down their muzzles. Others had their guts split open. The rats ate their intestines like noodles. The sight of those pinkish colored organs slithering out from their chests while the whimpering wails of his comrades droned on sent him over the edge. The agony haunted him. He needed it to stop.

He was encircled, forced to watch as Hadran and Matthias were cut down. He saw the horror in Hadran's face as they slit his throat and devoured his writhing body. Thavan screamed in a blood-crazed rage and fought on till he was the last one standing.

On all sides they watched him, laughing and snickering at his bleeding figure. The press for the final kill never came. Seconds turned into minutes while Thavan watched for the waiting embrace of death.

The horned one and the warlord appeared from the countless number of Skaven. A crooked smile poked from his bloodstained teeth. The horned one nodded to the black furred one. He approached Thavan with his weapon sheathed.

Thavan swung his sword in vengeance for his allies. The warlord scoffed and caught his wrist in mid swing, breaking it with his steely grasp. Thavan groaned and fell to his knees while the horned rat approached.

"Foolish man-things. You are a determined lot I will give you that. It is such a shame-waste that your kind are such a nuisance to kill. After all, you do make delicious meals." Said the horned one as it grinned maliciously.

"Yes." growled the warlord as he licked his muzzle coated in blood. "They make fine meals. Better than those fat dwarfs."

The horned one grinned darkly into Thavan's eyes. "Be thankful man-thing. You have been blessed by the sight of the Followers of The Great Horned Rat. It will be the last thing you will ever see."

He nodded to the warlord. The skaven retrieved his sword from its scabbard. He readied to skewer Thavan. Just as he started to impale the man is when something so bizarre happened it shocked the skaven and forced him to pause.

Thavan began twitching and contorting. He clenched his fist so tightly that blood ran down his fingertips. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as his voice grumbled with this darkening resonance. He twitched and flailed on his knees. This in turn forced the horned one to stare in awe. He raised his hand to stop his warlord from finishing the deed.

The veins in Vanamar's neck blackened all the way to his cheeks. It appeared that something had poisoned him from within. Some of those in attendance watched with fear. They sensed something far worse than what their leaders felt.

The moment Thavan's fate was about to be sealed is when his eyes emerged from their prison. The natural gray color of his orbs existed no more. Staring back into the second in commands face were onyx black gems for eyes. Their entirely unnatural color was sickening to look at. Even the skaven were taken back by their sight. The muscles in Thavan's neck clenched tightly. He wretched and gagged, forcing something upward.

The warlord had seen enough. He prepared to end this bizarre charade. He raised his sword, ready to strike down this madman's life once and for all. His hesitation was his undoing. A thick reddish fluid with black specks expelled from the humans retching maw. The fluids struck the left side of the skavens face.

He instantly exhaled a violent scream as the liquids singed fur, and melted the side of his helmet. His left eye bubbled and discharged fluids as it oozed from his skull. He thrashed at his face, shrieking a high pitched wail of unholy agony as his flesh began sloughing away. The liquids ate through skin and muscle, ripping down to the bone.

All the while Thavan remained silent, merely watching his assailant die a grisly death while smiling eerily. His face was so strange that it almost felt uncanny, or inhuman, warped into this unnatural smile that left everyone watching him feel a cold chill trace down their spines.

Even the fingers that touched the fluid were devoured, eaten away until the pearly white color of bone appeared. Those too broke off and crumbled to the ground. The skaven fell backward onto the earth. It wheezed one final gasp for air and died right there on the spot.

The reddish fluid chewed through until it hit the cranial cavity, devouring part of its brain. As the reddish fluid dissolved, the blockade it was forming gave way. A stew-like mass of brain matter poured from the side of his skull, like congealed fat liquefying on a steak. Its tongue hung from its open mouth as its dead face twitched one final time and stilled in its macabre exit from this world.

The horned one laughed hideously and began rapidly kicking his dead allies corpse. "Fool! You lost to an unarmed trickster. It is a good thing you died. I quite enjoy weeding out the weak."

He regarded Thavan, noticing his eyes had turned back to their natural gray. Then, his mind focused elsewhere. "Skabby! Skabby, where are you my boy?"

Out from the horde appeared a skaven equipped with better clothing than the rest of slaves and clanrats. He spoke meekly and in reverence to his master, "I...I'm right here milord."

The master grinned. "Strip this fool of his armor. He wasn't worth it in the slightest. Perhaps you will be?"

The horned one walked to Thavan and gripped him by the throat. "And as for you, you will live to see another day. What an honor it will be for you to see our grand Under-Empire. Although, by the time we are finished with you, you may regret ever casting that spell. Take him to the pits. This is where your new life begins my pet."

* * *

 **After nearly a year and a half of silence I have returned. Some of you may be shocked by my choice of story, since this is not the sequel to It Followed Me Home. I think I owe it to many of you as to why I chose this.**

 **First and foremost, I have been playing an unhealthy amount of Total War Warhammer 2 and Vermintide 2 over the past year. I fell in love with the Warhammer world and then my brother suggested I write a story within the world. I agreed. And for the past 4 months I have been working diligently toward this. I have peeled over the Wikipedia pages to understand more of the common things within the Warhammer world. But understand that I am not a master of this topic. I have created this story as a love letter to my adoration of Warhammer. If something appears wrong or falls out of lore, feel free to message me directly and tell me. Any lore that I may have missed but is offered by one of my readers is a boon. I will say this as a word of caution though; this story will not follow the canon of The End Times. Nothing more will be said on this topic.**

 **I have decided that any stories I write from now on will be a monster girl (Be it vampire, yautja, lamia, skaven, etc.) and male human romances. This is the style that most intrigues me concerning fanfics.**

 **So what about It Followed Me Home? Believe me when I say I am most interested in going back to that world someday. I have even sat down and started jotting some story ideas for it. Will it come to pass? I hope so. Perhaps sooner than later ;)**

 **Welcome back my readers. I look forward to hearing all of your reviews and comments. This has been one hell of a journey. We have a lot to discuss in the coming days. Thanks, and have a pleasant day or night.**


	2. Chapter 1

Of Atonement And Salvation

Chapter 1

From Nothing Came Everything

Written by S. J. Kandil

Thavan remained motionless. The chains binding him to the circular pedestal rattled every so often as the skaven slaves in front of him dragged the stone device by ropes. He towered over them. If these chains ever snapped, the slaves knew it would be their end. But his thoughts were on other matters.

Countless are the number of times Thavan followed this set routine. On days he was injured is when his respite came. Even then, his time of rest was fleeting. This life of killing for sport has become a morning ritual for him. So far removed is the normalcy of his new world from a time when he enjoyed strolls through his once beloved city.

Soon, very soon, blood would be spilt. He craved the slaughter and carnage. Murdering and gutting chaos and skaven is what he lived for. Blood was his bride. They brainwashed him into becoming something he'd never stand for.

Over four years have passed since they enslaved him. A time spent in endless torture and bloodshed. Thavan was no longer privy to the outside world and time. He lived on the moment. Life intermingled with death in his dance he would partake. Oh what a joy it would be to walk across the bloodstained ground once more!

As they neared the end of the hall the skaven let go of the ropes and exited the area. Behind him the gates groaned to life and lowered, trapping him in this room he was all too familiar with. The chains snapped loose. He was free, for now.

Thavan gripped his wrists where the restraints were dug in. The bruised flesh was tender and sore. He alternated between the two and rubbed them gently. He knew that once his blood started pumping, the pain would expire. And his focus would move onto more pressing matters.

The small cell he was standing in reeked of piss and shit. The scent stung his burning nostrils. It was a makeshift holding cell and armory. Designed to ready those who would enter the ring of death. There wasn't much else to observe in this dark realm.

To Thavan's right flank was a weapons stand. It was bare, save for one tool he utilized in each battle. Standing alone was an old rusty flail, stained in blood from the many battles he faced. In one hand he gripped the weapon and let the ball and chain dangle at his side. This flail had seen some use throughout its days. Still, it never failed him.

His finger touched the tip of a spike, verifying it was still rather sharp. He couldn't vouch for the aging chain, but the handle was in good use to this day.

Thavan was outfitted in a rather peculiar getup. Those who once knew him would no longer recognize the man. Crowned atop his head in curved horns was a goats skull. From its eye cavities is where he saw everything. The closer he came to combat, the more fiery his attitude became.

His shoulders were armed with leather pads. Attached to those pads were a number of small and large spikes. His hands were encased in thick plate gauntlets. They crunched and crackled every-time he clenched his fists.

Thavan's bare, hairy chest held no form of protection. A multitude of scars ran across his flesh. From the cuts and bruises on his arms, to the cracks of the whip embedded into his back, there was no denying this man was a map of scars. These markings were the gifts granted to him by his scrupulous hosts.

The lack of clothing upon his chest was not the same for his waist. He wore a pair of tattered brown trousers, rusty greaves, and a layer of chain-mail for added protection.

To the uninitiated, Thavan appeared to be one of the Norscan Barbarian tribes hailing from Norsca itself. The title of Witch Hunter he once so dearly held seemed lost to time now. His breaths came out in sporadic intervals. It was clear his lungs were failing him. He disregarded the notion of pain and past days and focused on the present.

Thavan began twirling the handle, sending the ball and chain whirling in a circular pattern. He picked up the pace as the gate in front of him ascended. The ball rotated at breakneck speeds. He was ready to kill.

The lights of the arena before him came within view. His eyes focused on every detail. It was massive, spanning several hundred meters. They called it the pits but to Thavan it was more akin to a coliseum. Titanic pillars were carved all the way to the top of the structure, supporting the ceiling. These pillars were formed from the core of the very planet. The ceiling was enclosed. All Thavan could see was the same stone material used in the pillars.

Several hundred green-fire torches lit the arena below. Hanging by chains, they hung in a pendulous manner. It appeared at any moment one may fall from its base.

This green-fire material was created by warpstone. A glowing greenish ore that some purportedly claimed comes from the moon Morslieb. Others have said it is the product of Chaos from their wastelands where they plot on the downfall of man. Whether that is true or not, remains to be seen.

The arena they would partake in battle was littered with countless traps. From pitfalls filled with deadly spikes, to levers that lowered boiling oil, if your enemy wouldn't kill you then the traps would. If one memorized the rather insane layout, then they stood a better chance. That is, if it were possible. The skaven redesigned the traps and rearranged the established ones in different order, effectively making it impossible to comprehend the layout.

Dried blood stained the dirty ground. Its brownish color indicated some time had passed since the last battle took place. Sometimes bodies were left over from the last fight. Not today.

Thavan observed the thousands of skaven screaming and cheering as they sat on the many rows of seats, ready for the inevitable bloodshed. They were of a bestial nature. Evil, snarling beasts that lived and reveled in filth. It disturbed Thavan that in many aspects he was no different from them.

At the center of the coliseum, standing high above those in attendance was a massive tower of sorts. It was carved into the ceiling, allowing a sky view of the carnage below. Sitting within this tower was the horned rat. The same one who enslaved Thavan. Upon his palanquin throne from his tower is where he conspired and watched all. His top followers stood guard around him, eyeing his subordinates for a possible assassin in their midst. The skaven hierarchy was a slippery slope of treacherous backroom dealings and cutthroat antics.

Thavan watched the other gates rise upward. Was there ten today? No, twenty? In the end, he was unconcerned with the amount. So long as more of these monsters fell to his attacks, then nothing else mattered.

His flail swung so rapidly it moved no different than an arrow flying to its target. A blurry image of unbridled rage is what it embodied. His heart rate steadily increased until he was pumping liquid fury through his veins. The gates finished their course as they made it into their base above. The time for combat had begun.

Thavan charged into the coliseum screaming at the top of his lungs. His closest combatants caught wind of his bloodcurdling shriek and closed the gap. His eyes locked onto theirs. They too witnessed the madness lurking underneath his bloodshot eyes. They reveled in the chaos. For that is what their kind worshiped, the forces of chaos.

There were three of them. The first two were pushed and goaded by their larger ally. His menacing glare never wavered from the eyes of Thavan. In his left hand he held a massive battleaxe. His rippled, muscular form flexed, revealing every detail of muscle on his flesh. Sweat ran down his mountain of a body as he kicked one of his 'allies' in the back and forced them to press forward.

A helmet covered the mans face. His glowing black eyes shined like black stars through the holes in the helm. A set of horns protruded out from the top of his helmet. He wore no shirt. His black trousers were rather baggy even as he had multiple straps and belts buckled around his waste. His feet were encased in these bloody colored boots. The soles were embedded with obsidian. What he lacked for in armor he made up for in speed.

The two in front of him were sick, stunted shadows of their former human selves. From their sunken inward eyes appeared this putrescent green fluid that oozed like sap from a tree. They stunk of disease.

The one closest to Thavan rose his sword upward and charged toward the former witch hunter. His lips had rotted from his mouth, assuring his teeth and gums were permanently visible. Its yellow, blackish tinged teeth were rotted and hung loose from his bloody red gums. The left side of his gums had a black hole within, revealing tendril masses writhing and slithering like tongues lapping at his foul saliva. His tattered, brown rags functioned as clothing upon his diseased and bony husk of a body. From his milky white eyes he scanned across Thavan's figure with a sense of mindlessness.

He groaned at Thavan and swung his sword at the man. His attack lacked finesse. It was predictable. Thavan sidestepped the attack in one fluid motion and made his counterattack known. His flail was an extension of his hand as he wound it upward and swung the ball into his enemies jaw.

The spiked ball connected, driving ever higher. It made short work of his flesh, cracking through cartilage and snapping bone. In one fell swoop he broke the follower of chaos' jaw. The bone fragments smashed into small shards, ramming upward until they skewered his tongue to the roof of his mouth. The tip of his tongue had not fared so well, for it was sticking outside of his mouth at the moment of impact. The instant it stapled shut is when he bit the tip off and it hit the side of Thavan's mask, sending a droplet of blood down the goat skull.

Blood oozed from his mouth. The fragments having sown his mouth shut forced the man of chaos to grip his jaw and pull. Blood filled his mouth and nostrils, clogging his need for oxygen. It was all for nothing as he tried to dislocate the jaw from his mouth. A swing like that would kill any regular human. But the men of Nurgle were a resilient bunch. Thavan liked to see if he would survive this next attack.

Thavan cracked downward, slamming the ball onto the top of his skull. His face caved inward as his eyeballs popped and the entire mass of flesh and bone congealed together. He silenced the blighted, diseased human forevermore.

As soon as the dead chaos soldier let go of his sword and fell backwards, Thavan caught it through his free hand. With two weapons in his grasp now, he had a chance against that Northlander with the axe.

The second one gave Thavan no time to counter a blow that nearly sliced his belly open. The only way he guaranteed his safety was a speedy jump backwards and away from the arms of death. Being this close to his enemy gave him no chance to utilize his flail or sword. Instead, he took advantage of the instability and rammed his spiked shoulder guards into the inhuman thing.

As he pulled himself from the chaos fledgling the man let out a nauseating groan. The flesh peeled away like spoiled milk skimmed from a pail. Beneath the rotten epidermis lay pulsating muscle and rotten black tissue. Bloated maggots infested its decaying dermal layer. The sight of those slithering creatures gorging on dead flesh was beyond vulgar. Those who had a weak stomach would have already expelled what they fed upon.

Thavan stabbed his sword through its throat. The flesh gave way as strands of muscle tissue split to his aggression. He cleaved through until the head lobbed off from its neck. It flew through the air and crashed onto the ground. Thick, coagulated blood funneled from his throat. It mixed with the thinner body fluids until they both spurt from the split orifice like a geyser. The body twitched a handful of times and collapsed next to its severed head while copious amounts of inhuman blood splattered all around them.

Only two remained. Once he dispatched the final threat, he would have control of this side of the arena. Others were fighting tooth and paw to maintain control of their respective areas. Some skaven slaves were fighting their own brothers. Others containing a mix of chaos and skaven were caught in the middle and cut down accordingly. Chaos soldiers and ratmen clashed for dominance while Thavan fought alone against all odds.

The chaos marauder with the ax reveled in the insanity. He roared to the heavens on high, raising his weapon in the air and slamming his fist into his muscled chest.

"It's about time I fought a human worth his salt. The vast majority of you weaklings flee and run. Cutting down cowards offers no challenge. Khorne smiles upon warfare and bloodshed. Wouldn't you agree?"

His deathly low voice growled out like words dragging through gravel. His mouth twisted into a macabre smile. The sight of his bloodstained teeth and horrific grin would force most to flinch. But Thavan merely watched on in silence.

Thavan rammed his flail into the dirt, kicking up dust all around him. "Come forth follower of Khorne so I may rid you of your life and send you to your precious Blood God. I offer nothing but death and the peace I seek. To hell is where I'll send you."

Thavan's words were void-less. There were no emotions behind his cold utterance but the clawing grasp of death. But beneath it all, when one scrapes away the fabrications they may see that spark once more beneath those gray eyes. And a soul trembling for a nonexistent release to salvation.

The time for discussion halted. The marauder rushed toward Thavan with an inhuman burst of speed. Thavan deflected each swing of the ax. His weaponry wasn't designed for a defensive stance. As another swing came downward each weapon connected, the steel sword ground against the ax. A screeching below sounded. If he had paused for even a split second earlier, that ax would have embedded into his scapula.

Thavan grit his teeth. Sweat poured profusely from his boiling body. His weapons were no match for the reach of his opponents ax, nor the dexterity he exerted with each attack. Still, he pressed on while his muscles fought violently in defiance. They toiled at their hardest to deny a killing blow.

Just as Thavan readied for another barrage is when he lost his footing and fell backwards. That mistake saved his life for the marauder sliced across the air, just missing his torso. The chaos soldier wasn't going to let this opening fall through. He charged forward and ran his ax into Thavan's chest. Thavan leaped to the side but it was already too late. The ax made contact with flesh, splitting his bicep open.

Thavan groaned. Fresh blood spilled from his wound and down his arm. It wasn't life threatening, but in time he would need treatment. Thavan screamed a raged filled roar that set off a chain of events that left the chaos marauders defenses wide open.

He jumped upward and snapped the flail with one forceful jerk and sent it careening into the joint where the marauders left arm bends. The bludgeoning weapon broke bone while the spikes eviscerated the flesh. A satisfying crunch could be discerned as the bone gave way to his aggression and the arm stopped working. Thavan's flail broke from the chain and smashed into the earth while the limp digit of his adversaries arm hung loosely as the ax fell from his grasp.

He grunted at Thavan as the man dropped the handle to his broken weapon. Thavan performed a roundhouse kick. The muscles in his leg flexed tightly. He used the momentum behind his leg to smash right into his mouth. The chaos marauder spit out a mouthful of blood and teeth from his helm just as Thavan ran his fist into his enemies throat. The marauder choked from a sudden loss of air, gasping for sweet oxygen. He clawed at his throat and fell to the ground, lying on his stomach.

Thavan dropped his sword and gripped the ax from the dusty ground. His own blood coated the weapon as he hefted it forward and aimed at the base of the mans spine. All of his rage and anger spread through that ax the moment he slammed downward and split through the base of his back.

The chaos marauder exhaled a grievous scream. Thavan propped his foot onto the top part of the ax and pressed deeper as if the weapon were a shovel. Bones splintered and cracked from the foreign substance invading his spinal column. Blood spilled across his bleeding back while the marauder thrashed, clawing at the dirt.

With a steely grip Thavan yanked backwards, the ax was lodged so deeply into the mans spine that the weapon was effectively stuck. Showing no concern over this impasse, Thavan gripped harder and tugged with every muscle in his body against the handle of that weapon. The ax ripped through cartilage and bone. This carried on for several seconds. His body burned for relief as the weapon ripped outward. Flesh was torn asunder. The spinal cord submitted to his violent attack. His enemy went limp. He was dead.

The bone came tearing outward, ripping through sinew and muscle. Right below the neck line is where the spinal column split. That part became lodged inside the ax. As the vertebrae ripped from the neck, tiny pieces of bone went flying all around.

The ax head flew from the pole, launching it and the spinal cord across the battlefield. His dead enemies back split apart as if it were a butterflied piece of chicken. Blood pooled from the dissected remains of the chaos marauder. The upper layer of spinal cord connected to the fractured skull hung loosely from the back of the neck.

Thavan discarded the now useless weapon and retrieved his sword as a backup. But as soon as he had formulated his next course of action is when he heard a violent roar from behind, pulling him toward more pressing concerns.

Out from another rising gate appeared a creature of monstrous proportions. A ten foot tall beast rippling in muscle charged out from its holding cell. Patches of fur hung loosely from its lab grown body. Its mutilated face grumbled out a hideous roar as a copious amount of viscous fluid ran down its muzzle. A large set of incisors clicked together. Its black, beady eyes scanned for its first target. Thavan noted those blades for teeth were several inches in length. One bite would surely kill him.

If one examined closely, they would notice its arms and chest were stitched together. The visible lining of needlework proved that much. The work of its creator was one acting in haste. Its right hand opened, revealing razor-like needles for nails. Whereas, its left arm was missing entirely. They lobbed that appendage off. At the location where the arm bends, right where the elbow would be, the body held multiple stitches and runic slabs of metal encased around its missing flesh. The metal arm extended downward at the point where its wrist would be. In its stead, rested a long, glowing warp-stone etched blade.

This abomination in question resembled a deformed rat bred in some ghastly lab far from the prying eyes of others. A large portion of its body parts were stitched together. The visible scars embodied the marriage of life and death until they crested as one. Born from that marriage was this...unholy thing.

The closest group of skaven slaves and chaos met an unfortunate end as it focused on their battle. It charged through and pummeled the ranks with no opposition. Some were crushed beneath its hulking feet. Others were stabbed or split in two.

One of the unlucky chaos men met a grisly demise. The mans legs were crushed as the rat ogre stomped him into the earth. He screamed as the monster dislocated his arm with one pull. The beast refused to relent, ripping further as the arm popped from his shoulder-blade. The digit split apart from his body. A volley of blood spouted from the wound. The bestial creature then proceeded to beat him to death with his severed limb and its bladed hand.

The moment the body went limp it began to devour the man. As it started to feed its eyes caught wind of Thavan. He tried to remove himself from its presence, backing away slowly as a mass of pinkish intestines hung from its mouth. That would be to no avail. It grunted and exhaled visibly hot breath from its nostrils. There was a new target in its sights. The blood-lust would continue.

Thavan glanced downward at his measly sword. If he were to survive an encounter with this monster, then it was time conjure a new weapon. A short sword would give him no advantage against that creature. He needed range.

The beast snarled, slamming its fist and sword into the earth. Its muscular legs surged forward, propelling the rat ogre directly toward Thavan Vanamar. Thavan burst into a sprint, widening the gap from the ogre. By this time in the arena, the vast majority of combatants were already dead or dying.

Thavan's eyes scanned across the arena until he caught sight of something that may even the odds ever so slightly. He noticed one of the men of chaos who was still standing held a rather large halberd in his hands. His back faced Thavan as he finished off the stragglers of his most recent battle.

A large pitfall separated Thavan from his enemy. Several meters below the opening were rows of steel and wooden poles, pointed and hungry for the blood of the fallen.

Thavan had limited options. If he stopped and faced the rat ogre, he knew how that outcome would end. On the other hand, he wasn't sure he could pass the gap in one jump. And there was no way he could run around it. Time was no longer on his side.

His only option rested in jumping and that was exactly what he would do. Thavan utilized the growing momentum in his legs to press on harder and harder. The gap between each step grew further. He drew closer and closer to the edge while the grunts and growls of the rat ogre grew louder.

The moment his left foot touched the rim of the crater, he kicked off and jumped into the air. The momentum sent him careening across the chasm. He passed the crater and onward to the other side. Thavan screamed. His very life flashed before his eyes. The front part of his right foot just barely touched down on the dirty ground. Both of his heels met the emptiness of the crater. He wobbled back and forth upon the precipice of death. Balance and a calm mindset is what he needed and as he pushed forward, he passed the threshold of his end once again.

Thavan felt his toes creep along every inch and centimeter he could muster until it nearly backfired. His feet almost sent him crashing forward into the dirt and busting his nose open. Thankfully, that did not happen as he stabilized and moved away from the pitfall.

The chaos soldier still had his back to Thavan. The ex witch hunter rushed forward, closing the gap while the chaos trooper just extracted the bladed part of his halberd from his last victim. Thavan offered the man no means of defense. He sliced the sword through the back of his neck until it ripped out of the front, decapitating the man instantly. The neck spurted blood while the body thrashed and let go of the weapon he once held.

Thavan caught the halberd and dropped his sword. He rushed past the corpses littered across the battlefield, leaping over obstacles, and dodging pots of boiling oil and weapons thrown down at him from the screaming crowds above.

Out of the corner of his eyes Thavan saw the rat ogre leap across the chasm effortlessly. Its massive muscular legs kicked up rocks and dirt as it landed on Thavan's side of the arena. It pounded its fist into the earth and roared toward a sky of rock and darkness.

Further away from Thavan and the monster, a new opportunity presented itself. A weapon in the form of a massive hammer swung back and forth like a pendulum across the arena. High above them all, skaven slaves stood on a platform yanking the lever in both directions to drive the hammer onward. A weapon of this size and the speed in which it traveled, just might be what Thavan needed to even the odds.

This was it. This was the gamble he was willing to take. He rushed along the pathway in which it followed. The pressure and force from the weapon driving along side him sent gusts of wind nearly knocking him over with each passing hit.

Thavan judged the weapon had to weigh over several hundred pounds. Something of this magnitude would surely kill the monster, right? It was his only hope to level the playing field.

Time was precious. As each second ticked away, the rat ogre grew closer. It's heinous warm breath could be felt along the nape of Thavan's neck. Sweat poured from his dripping forehead, blinding his eyes in a mixture of dirt, blood, and perspiration. His muscles screamed for release. But it was of the utmost importance he timed this right. Should he fail, he'd have more issues than just aching muscles.

Thavan followed the beat of each swing, counting down its pendulum-like rotations. His focus rested upon this rhythmic motion, as he blotted out all other distractions. He must memorize this.

The crowds screamed and jeered for the killing blow. They spit and threw rocks at him. All while the snarling roars of a monster ready to devour him along with the intensity of fatigue plaguing his body culminated together into utter descending madness.

For lesser souls this was their end; for Thavan, this was only the beginning. As the rats pulled the massive hammer upwards it would head for its descent soon. Thavan rushed along the edge of its path with the ogre in tow. As it came barreling down toward him Thavan roared and leaped across its path. The force of the hammer and the gusts of wind sent his trajectory off only slightly. He crashed into the ground and rolled, dodging the hammer at the last millisecond. The rat ogre was not spared a similar fate.

The hammer came downward. It's destination absolute. What followed emphasized its judgment. The sickening crunch the flesh made as it connected to the chest and shoulder-blade of the rat ogre signaled all in attendance how severe the wound was. Bone ripped through skin while bursting blood vessels beneath the vivified flesh bruised and blackened.

Instantly, the hammer broke from its base. The metallic cord snapped from above and moved with enough force to cut the nearest skaven slave in half. Blood and gore showered the battlefield below as he whipped backwards and crashed into the arena. The impact the two made was so utterly profound that it broke the platform the hammer was attached too. Boards and rocky support beams crumbled to dust as the screaming skaven above came plummeting to their deaths.

The crowd uttered a vociferous shrieking fury that rumbled across the battlefield. They were blood-drunk and eager to see more die, even if that meant their own kind.

On the other hand, Thavan screamed as debris came down toward him. He rolled across the ground while chunks of rock and bodies smashed into the arena. Wooden beams flung into him as he continued until he gathered enough momentum and raised himself upward, using the halberd as support.

As this happened the rat ogre absorbed the blow of the hammer head on. It's feet burrowed into the ground from the monumental force pushing it several meters backwards. The hammer came to a violent halt moments later. The rat ogre smashed into the earth, while it gripped its head and whimpered pathetically.

Thavan was beyond dumbstruck. The creature had not only survived, but it was already licking its wounds and trying to stand. This was unbelievable.

 _I'm not giving this bastard a chance._ Thavan told himself as he charged forward with the Halberd at the ready.

The moment the creature raised itself on its two arms is when Thavan closed the gap and slashed a violent gash across its chest. Blood streaked down its bruised, broken body. It snarled and lunged forward, nearly tearing a chunk of flesh out with its large pointy teeth.

Thavan utilized the length of the halberd to his advantage. Keeping the monster at bay was the only edge he had. It growled and swung at his pole, trying to find an opening. It was rather dim but it could at the very least, discern what causes pain.

It dragged its broken arm along the ground. Shards of bone appeared from the wound along with black splotches all across the area of impact. Its injuries were far beyond what Thavan initially expected. He grinned maliciously, knowing very well he would capitalize on its weakness and exploit it.

Thavan backpedaled across the arena, his eyes were ever vigilant as he watched his steps. With all this debris and destruction along the field, one misplaced step would be beyond detrimental to his plans.

He continued to stab and prod at the beasts flesh. With each opportunity presented to him he bloodied the monster even further. By this point the ogre was battered and covered in blood. Its flesh was torn to a mushy pulp hanging from sloughing strands. Scraps of meat hung from shattered bone, and yet, it still persisted.

Thavan's entire body was covered in sweat and blood. He wheezed for oxygen from his weakening lungs. Exhaustion had him on the brink of no return. His masters intentionally over exerted him today. It was his time to die, but he wasn't dying.

All he needed was a little more time. Though as he felt the fire waning in his burning muscles, he pondered if he had enough time. If anything, he would finish this bastard off before he was giving in.

Thavan rushed forward with a burst of energy he did not know he had. The moment the ogre swiped, he closed the gap. Their attacks connected. Its clawed hand sliced Thavan's chest open. He groaned and wheezed while his halberd slashed across its throat. Blood spurted onto his face. The hot fluids blinded him while the rat ogre exhaled a ghastly gurgle and went limp.

Blood flowed from its open wound and down its chest. The fluids mingled with his flesh through the cracks of his goat-skull mask. It matted onto his dirty black hair. From those in attendance it appeared that the skull was crying tears of blood through its sockets. The sight silenced those watching.

The claws that dug through his flesh were deep, but not a mortal wound. That is, unless he finds medical treatment. Through fiery rage and fury alone, Thavan pressed onward. He drove the spiked top of the halberd through the creatures mangled throat and out the back of its skull. Its eyes dilated. The ogre grunted one final time as the air in its lungs abandoned it. Instead, they now filled with blood.

Its hand came downward and smashed into Thavan's skull mask, splitting it in two. The ogre crumbled and collapsed onto the ground. The earth shook as it smashed onto the dusty floor and stilled forever. Thavan's mask fell from his face and crashed to the ground. His features were revealed to all those watching in silence.

When the mask cracked, it cut the side of his cheek, leaving a nasty gash and possibly a future scar too.

Thavan turned toward the overlook high above. He saw the leader of this rat faction stand and walk toward the edge. His eyes never wavered from Vanamar's.

"You brought the rat ogre out here today to kill me, but you've failed. As you have failed countless times before. Nothing you can do will stop me from overcoming your obstacles. I'll kill and kill until you have nothing left."

Anger rippled across its face. It's beady eyes twitched while its lips revealed a mouth full of sharp teeth. A contorted expression of hatred revealed the truth; he had its attention.

"Oh? Was that your pet?" Said Thavan through a grinning face.

"I hope you know I enjoyed taking its life. I have fought for far too long in this arena to die now. Quit your cowering and come down here you bastard. Face me so I may end this charade once and for all."

The crowds erupted into a tumultuous battle-cry. They craved the slaughter and the flowing of fresh blood. To see their leader on the field would be an unforgettable experience. And this choice simply rested within his hands.

With an outstretched paw he silenced the crowd. His eyes watched the puny human before him. Even though he maintained the power in this situation, that human always found a way to burrow himself beneath the horned ones skin. He hated it. His plans with the human never came to fruition. So why would it matter if he died today? A decision was determined. A decision that would never be answered.

Somewhere far off in the distance near the top of the arena an explosive report of a rifle erupted and launched a round across the bloody battleground. A bullet that would change the outcome of everything. Thavan witnessed it all firsthand.

One moment the gray seer was staring at him with contempt. The next second passed with the left side of his face removed. What remained of the muzzle was a bloody stump of spurting blood, cracked bone, and eviscerated flesh hanging by strands. Deeper within the divide of bloody gore the bullet left a gaping hole out the back of the skull. The pinkish sight of spilling brain matter pouring from the wound sent those in their leaders presence in an uncontrollable panic. The fluids and chunks of meat came like a great flood out of the orifice. The leaders eye blinked one final time as his body collapsed and crashed to the arena below.

Before any of them had a chance to flee, explosives went off in strategic locations around the arena. The lucky ones closest to the blast were blown apart with no feeling of pain. The unlucky ones crushed by debris had their arms and legs smashed. A slow, painful death would follow.

Thavan observed the tower bowing inward. This whole thing was going to come down on him. With that notion in the back of his mind he fled from the epicenter with halberd in hand. As the fracturing tower came downward, it split the ceiling of the dome and smashed into part of the western row of seating, flattening all those who were in its way.

As this all came unraveling before him, Thavan saw a large chunk of debris smash into the arena. It was right near the stands. A possible opportunity to escape? He knew what he must do.

"Could the Witch Hunters have found me? I had given up hope so long ago. There's a chance that I may...forget it. Until I am out of this madness I will not celebrate." Said Thavan in a bewildered tone.

On Thavan's left flank he passed by a Skavan smashed from the chest downward by falling debris. His Intestines had ruptured and were slowly pooling out of his mouth. His dead eyes were bulging from his eye sockets, ready to pop at any moment. "A shitty way to go, but not my fate. Not today." Admitted Thavan.

The piece of fallen debris he saw in the stands was angled well enough for him to climb relatively easily...but he would have to leave his halberd behind, lest he risk a dangerous fall that may result in a broken limb.

Thavan left behind the halberd and scaled the side of the wall with ease. Thavan noted this was all too easy, that perhaps this was set up on purpose. Had someone intended to see him rescued? Was this rocky structure breaking off a coincidence, or a well placed plan? Thavan didn't believe in luck. This reason alone kept his mind racing with far too many questions.

Within a minute Thavan's feet had touched solid ground. He had entered the remains of the seating area. It was a shadow of its former self. Part of the ceiling from above was dangling back and forth, ready to collapse at a moments notice. This entire arena may cave in rather soon. And with the majority of the inhabitants having fled by the time Thavan reached the top, his escape was nearly assured.

Thavan leapt over broken debris and dead skaven. This was all one giant obstacle in his path. It was a test he would overcome. He would. He had too.

The closest exit near him vacated into the city. As Thavan walked up the final stair and saw the long hallway winding to the exit and freedom beyond, he couldn't help but question this pathway. A few torches lit down the eerily quiet hall. Screams and gunfire could be discerned beyond the pathway leading down into the bowels of the city.

Rushing into the heart of the town half cocked and without a weapon was paramount to doom. He knew this. And that is why it hurt all the more that he needed another plan of action before he departed. For all he knew, the invaders meant him harm as well.

At any time stormvermin patrols were bound to arrive and bring order to the chaos. He also believed they would round up any escapees such as himself. Even though freedom presented itself to him, he needed to be more cautious in his actions.

Just as he began formulating a new plan of action, he heard a shrill cry coming from somewhere above him. Thavan's eyes skimmed across the hall for an entrance when yet again he heard another shriek. It was distinctively feminine. He walked along the hall when he spotted a spiraling staircase winding upward.

Thavan traveled up the claustrophobic stairway. The further he ascended the more distinct the voices became. He could have swore one of them was familiar, but he wasn't ready to say who it might be.

Upon nearing the top, Thavan spotted a sword standing upright with the handle propped against the wall. He silently gripped the weapon and entered the labyrinth of multiple passages. Further ahead the scene of a scuffle took place. There stood a toppled over desk with parchment scattered across the floor and black ink vials splattered all over the parchment and desk. Some droplets were still dripping into puddles on the floor.

A few skaven lay dead beyond the desk. Their deaths were not caused by the explosions. They were shot and stabbed. This revelation revealed what he believed. There truly was a battle being fought over this town.

Another scream drew him back to the real world and away from his thoughts. The voice originated from one of the leftmost rooms beyond the desk. Its cries for help called to Thavan in a fundamental way. If somebody needed help from these rat bastards, then he would gladly oblige. At least he had not forgotten his core goals; protect those in need.

As Thavan rounded the corner he watched a packmaster corner an individual in the room. From this angle he could not determine who they were. This was the same packmaster who tortured him since he arrived here. This was a dish of cold revenge he would follow through with. This was his kill.

Thavan crept toward the packmaster. Leather straps dangled from his arms, they swayed against his movements. The rest of his body was covered in tattered rags and hardened leather armor. In his left hand he cracked a whip, and in his right rested a dagger. His back was primed for an easy kill.

Thavan realized this room was the personal chambers of the horned rat. He had heard the other skaven mention he used this for business meetings. The massive window on his left flank overlooking the arena confirmed his suspicions. He'd seen him stand there sometimes.

The gap was closed, the sword now poised for a killing blow. Just as Thavan started to press forward, he instantly stopped when the skaven screeched at its enemy. "You-you are Grozen filth! Traitor! You die-die!"

The moment he raised his weapon to commit to the death blow is when Thavan intervened. His blade passed between the ribs until it ruptured out of the front of his chest. The packmaster tried to gasp but it only sucked in a breath of air. Its last breath. Its weapons fell to the floor.

Thavan left the weapon embedded into his chest as he walked around the corner. A burning fury emanated from his gray eyes. On the other hand, the skaven stared on in fear, whimpering and shitting itself like the coward it was.

A grin, one so unnatural and inhuman warped across his pale white features. His dirty, blood covered teeth were revealed. Thavan gripped the bladed part with his bare hands and ripped upward with enough force to not only cut the palm of his hand but also slice through the entire chest cavity and out of the top of its skull. Thavan bisected the packmaster with one hand. He flipped the sword over to the handle as the body crashed to the floor. From its mangled pose the split veins and arteries pumped hemoglobin, spilling its contents across the ground. The strength he used was _inhuman._

Thavan calmed himself as he turned and faced the person he saved. He couldn't believe what he saw. A young woman, no older than 19 stood before him on trembling legs. She held a knife extended out toward him. Her hands shook as she watched Thavan. That fear etched across her face was directed toward him.

She was adorned with black robes. A hood covered part of her face. Her long, raven colored hair ran down her porcelain white skin. Beneath her robes, Thavan could see she was clothed in a long flowing gambeson split down the middle in a tailcoat of sorts. The sleeves were nonexistent on this version. Running down the length of the gambeson were leather straps tightened in place to keep the article of clothing from moving. Between the gaps where flesh was visible, he could discern the tell-tail sign of a hauberk crafted from Chain-mail, running from the length of her arms to her waist. Sheets of metal lined faulds were attached to her hips. They jingled as she backpedaled away from Thavan. Upon her thighs rested layers of plate connected by rivets as they went further down her legs.

Seated on her face were a large pair of black spectacles. "Are...are you Thavan Vanamar?" Her voice squeaked cautiously.

Thavan lowered his sword, showing her that he meant no harm. "That is me. Or, that is what they used to call me when I lived above-ground. But I digress. How do you know me?"

She placed her knife in its scabbard. "My leader sent us here to find you."

Thavan walked past her. He spotted the glint of metal out of the corner of his eye. Upon the floor sat a fire and forget musket, compact and easy to use. It may come in handy.

As he did that she too walked further away, toward the desk in the middle of the room. With a lockpick retrieved from her satchel on her hip, she quietly began picking the lock.

Thavan eyed her suspiciously. "You were sent to find me? And do what? It is clear you are no combatant."

Her face flushed with embarrassment. "It is true, I am no fighter. And I thank you deeply for what you have done for me. When the fighting started, I ugh...I am embarrassed to admit this but I panicked and fled. By the time I got a hold of myself I was separated from the rest of my allies. I would have died were it not for you. My leader means no ill will toward you. Our objective was to find and locate you, and get what is inside this desk. Their task rested within the former, mine within the latter. It seems I have managed to perform both, albeit at a near catastrophic rate. My name is Feefee and I am in your debt."

Thavan paced around the room. His mind a maze filled with questions. "How did humans find me?" He asked.

"Humans?" She chirped.

Her attention shifted to the desk as the lock popped open. She extracted a large black cloth-like wrap from her pouch and opened the lockbox. A bright, glowing green aura shone the instant the drawer popped open.

Thavan ignored her question. "Is that warpstone? We need to get out of here, not waste our time with that stuff."

She placed the covered stone in her pouch. A sharp hiss let rip the instant she sealed it. "I completely agree. The sooner we are away from this terrible place the better. But it was our duty to follow through on both ends of the mission. I'm sure you know all too well about the promise to complete an objective."

The thought of his acceptance of the mission that brought him into this scenario flashed across his mind. The Inner Circle asked him to complete this task and he failed. He understood all too well about the need to finish a mission.

"I do." Said Thavan glumly. "I should be thanking you though, if you all are risking your lives to save me, then I am the one truly in debt. I would have never escaped this hell without the aid of others." He said with the utmost sincerity.

She smiled brightly at him. White glistening teeth shone through her gorgeous grin. "Well, you can properly thank us after we get you out of here."

Her warm smile made Thavan shiver. His cheeks flushed red. It had been quite some time since he had seen a woman. He couldn't deny to himself that she was beautiful. The sweet fragrance of lilac that permeated through her hair only heightened his thoughts on the matter.

He brushed the feelings aside and pressed onto more pertinent matters. "If your allies are looking for me, then they most likely will assume I have fled from the arena by now. Did your people agree on a location to relocate should the mission go awry?"

She nodded quickly. "Yes-Yes! But there is a serious problem to that equation. Our escape passes right through the middle of the skaven city. And this is where all the combat started. It is near the edge of the city. Right at the great bridge that passes over the river and sluice-ways. My people will manage just fine, but you and I must sneak our way through the city. Most of the cowards will have fled now, but patrols of stormvermin will spell our end."

Thavan nodded as his eyes grew heavy. He nearly fell against the wall as he tried to steady himself. The cuts and gashes he received from his chest and face had worn him down. The cut on his hand only added to the fatigue. He was dying.

"What's the matt..." Feefee gasped as she finally noticed all the wounds across his body. Her immediate fear at his first appearance and then her focus on the lock-box left her completely oblivious to his ailments. She was disturbed by her own incompetence.

"Thavan, I need you to please sit down on this chair right here. Before we go anywhere I must tend to these wounds. I am so sorry. Forgive me of my ineptitude."

He nodded and raised his hand as he sat down. The strength in his body was sapped of its energy. When the chaos stymied and all that was left was conversation, he could truly feel his life-force had been spent.

She walked toward Thavan and pulled out a glowing blue poultice. "This will not only slow the blood-flow entirely, but it will also fight infection. May I?" She pointed to his chest as she uncorked the bottle.

Thavan nodded gently.

She dumped some of the contents upon his chest, kneading the fluids into his wounds with her free hand. The stuff was very cold, yet highly rejuvenating. The pain died down almost instantly. She continued to work the fluids into his hairy chest. Within moments the bleeding died down to a trickle. She performed the same procedures upon his face and hand.

From her back she ripped open a pouch and pulled out gauze. She daintily wrapped his cuts in disinfected gauze wraps, until all gashes and cuts were properly taken care of.

"Hmmm, you look like a Tomb King." She said beneath a chuckle.

"What is a Tomb King?" He looked at her confused.

"Not so well versed on history are you, Thavan? I mean no harm in that. They are the rulers of Nehekhara, The Land of The Dead. They are not so far from the humans who inhabit the lands of Araby. But we have no time on a history lesson. We must remove ourselves from this place. Do you feel well enough to continue?"

He nodded. "Yes. Thank you for what you have done for me."

She grinned. "Don't be so quick to thank me yet. You need proper medical treatment. These wounds are worse than they look. And because of that, we must take our leave."

They made haste down the winding stairwell and into the long hallway illuminated by torches. They rushed toward the exit, leaving behind this nightmare forever. Upon reaching the exit and seeing the cityscape, Thavan looked at the scenery in awe.

This was the first time he had seen an outside world since they seized control over his life. All he had known for those past four years was that arena and that ghastly cage he called home. It truly terrified him that he almost forgot there was a world beyond what he had come to know as life.

A vast expanse of poorly crafted shanties made of wood and refuse encompassed the majority of the smaller buildings. Those who held wealth had buildings crafted of stone and ornately detailed support beams of an unknown material. Balconies extended out from the taller structures so one may overlook the pawns below. The striking difference between rich and poor in the skaven society stood well beyond that of human society.

Some of the shanties were stacked atop one another so high that they leaned over in a lopsided fashion. At any moment they may collapse. The most expansive were monolithic in nature, carved of black obsidian and stretching so high across the inhabitants of the town. Above the monolithic structures green flames burned above everyone, such as beacons illuminating the darkness.

Garbage and feces littered the cities streets. Many skaven lay dead as some buildings were already smashed into the earth, crumbled from the destruction caused by the coliseum. None of this imagery deterred Feefee. It was the absence of sound that frustrated her. The complete silence was unsettling. This was a rather large city. It was highly implausible for a city of this size to have gone silent.

"Where is everyone?" He uttered the words she thought.

"I...I don't know. Something's not right. I don't know why we do not hear the sound of patrols or other..."

She was cut short of her words as she saw eyes peering through windows. The glowing of red and black colors watching them from the vantage of their houses sent shivers down her spine.

"We need to leave now. I know where to go. But please maintain close proximity to me." The pleading tone in her voice was more than enough to tell Thavan they needed to leave. Let alone the fear that enchanted her wide eyes.

She voiced not one more word to him as she turned and rushed off into the cities streets with Thavan in tow. Feefee's robes flowed against her, swaying to the breeze that blew from her swift movements.

The more Thavan ogled at her he couldn't help but feel mesmerized. He didn't like admitting it but perhaps it was due to his lack of female interaction. As a witch hunter under the Cult of Sigmar, one of his tenets he must abide by is the rule that they forbade witch hunters from having a family.

As these thoughts grew heavy on his mind, he immediately brushed them aside. He had a job to do. The fantasizing of flesh and lust must be expunged. If feelings such as those got the better of him, then he knew he was no better than a Slaaneshi pervert.

Still, there was something that left a bizarre feeling in the pit of his stomach. It warned him that not all things were right in all of this. Her mannerisms and voice had an uncanny ring to it. It was human-like, but off in some shape or form. The more he tried to place a guess on what it was, he felt even more concerned. But then again, maybe it was just him? After all, interacting with non-humans for the past couple years might do that to you.

Thavan trailed behind Feefee until she pressed against the side of a building. With her dagger in hand she scooted toward the end of the structure. Thavan mimicked her every move. He was too close to fail now.

Once she neared the edge of the building, she quickly raised her hand. Thavan backed into the corner, hiding in the shadow of the building.

A stormvermin patrol marched in formation down the road. Feefee eased into the divide between the two buildings, in the murky blackness where no light reached. Since the main pathway was blocked off they used an alternative route.

The commander of the stormvermin patrol marched in front of them with a grand shield covering over half of his body. In his other hand rested a long sword that diverged at the end into three pointed tips. They continued on down the road until they rounded a corner and disappeared from view.

Feefee discerned some words uttered from the commanders lips. She heard him say 'intruders.' That meant her allies were close, but not close enough.

As soon as the coast was clear, they rushed across the street and made haste toward the grand bridge. The duo passed through a maze of wooden shanties and stone carved structures ready to collapse at any instant. An earthquake would decimate them.

Thavan was certain had he been on his own he would have never made it. He would have to repay her someday.

They continued on for several tense minutes until the great bridge came within view. Below it sloshing across the massive divide was a titanic lake that traveled all the way down the other end of the cavern until it could no longer be seen. The immense lake was filled with garbage and grime. It was a cesspool.

"I sincerely hope we won't have to swim through that filth. If the skaven don't kill me, then the diseases I receive from that disgusting water way will finish the job."

She observed the scenery before her, examining every nook and cranny. "No." She finally admitted through hushed breaths. "My allies were supposed to be around this area. Did I make a miscalculation? Furthermore, you would never make it across that lake in your condition."

Feefee began pacing as Thavan watched her. "This is the northern limits of the city...but...you see, we dug in through the rock. Others were supposed to be waiting at this spot for our arrival. Okay, change of plans. Let's follow the length of the bridge until it curves downward. If we have too, we will hop on the bridge, and I'll fire a distress signal. It's extremely dangerous, but we're out of options."

Thavan nodded while he spoke, "That's fine with me. I don't know where to go. My life is in your hands. I'll follow your lead."

They continued traveling across the outskirts of the town. The eerie silence left Feefee on edge. The sound of their footsteps kept Thavan focused on the job at hand. His attention diverted from her which in turn caused him to lag behind Feefee. She was now several yards from him and gaining a substantial distance from the man.

Just as Thavan started to catch up, a stormvermin appeared from around the corner of an alley. Its steely grip wrapped around his throat before he even had a moment to react. It rammed him against the building with one hand. Thavan gagged for air as he spat a glob of blood from his mouth. The skaven's fist tightened further.

"Grey Seer Tweeve kept you as a good toy yes-yes? Hmm? But I know better than to keep you man-things as trophies. I warned him of what should-will happen if we kept you around. The fool feigned interest in his pawns concerns. And now he is dead-gone!"

The skaven sniffed Thavan's neck. "Your scent, it is not that of your own kind-breed. They have come for you Thavan. They have come and it is because of you this all happened. You will never live to see the outcome though. Then again, maybe I should thank you? Because of you I will assume power over Clan Vanmeek. Skabby will be supreme ruler over all!"

His screaming formed a glob of spit that landed on Thavan's face. His rancid breath and sticky saliva reeked of a barbaric odor so strong it forced Thavan to wretch and dry heave. Unbeknownst to Skabby, a blade in the dark made its appearance.

Through ragged breaths Thavan choked on nonexistent air. This was it for him. Just as the light in Thavan's eyes dimmed, he closed his eyes and let go. In that instant he felt the grip around his throat loosen. Skabby's eyes widened. His lips were pulled back in a macabre manner as blood trickled between his teeth. Feefee had come to Thavan's aid. The blade now planted firmly between an opening in his rib-cage. Thavan gasped on fresh air. His lungs filled with oxygen as his focus turned toward the skaven.

In his moment of revenge his attention diverted to the enemy. He grabbed the blade, twisted it and pulled the weapon from Skabby's guts. With his free hand he gripped the warlord by the throat and slammed him against the wall. The impact made a sharp clang as metal and flesh smashed into the rock.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance. You skaven are too keen to show off. It is your downfall."

Thavan gripped him by the back of the head and rammed his face against the stone wall. Blood stained his matted fur and ears.

Thavan wasted no time in finishing the deed. The blade sprung upward and pushed through the bottom of his muzzle until it found its home deep within his skull cavity. Blood trickled down onto the handle and Thavan's hand while its dead eyes twitched and rolled into the back of his head.

Thavan jerked the blade toward him. The strength he exerted was unimaginable. The weapon ripped through the jawbone and muzzle. Its tongue and muzzle divided to a torrential flow of red fluids. As he fell back the head split in two places. A perfect bisection. The body crumbled against the wall and fell onto the ground as the legs gave out. Crimson stained his armor and lap as the fluids pumped their last droplets of blood onto the dead skaven.

Feefee thought it was time to move on but Thavan proved otherwise. He drove his foot into its skull cavity, kicking at the corpse repeatedly.

"I hate these things." Another kick sent a piece of skull flying through the air. "It would please me ever so much if all of their kind would die off. They offer nothing to this world. They are a pestilence species. By killing them I am freeing them. But I suppose I am asking too much."

He spoke with a tone unlike how he usually sounded. It was sad. It was hurting, longing for something more. Thavan drove his boot against his enemies lifeless corpse. One final time the skull suffered immense trauma. It crumbled as the flesh sunk inward.

"Revenge." His final word was one of nothing. It lacked empathy or concern. It was like a frigid winter. Unending and unrelenting.

As he turned to her he witnessed a peculiar sight. Her mouth was agape in fear. Her bright blue eyes stared at him, twinkling in hesitation.

"What?" He said as he smiled and flipped the blade over with the handle pointed to her. "They're animals. They deserve to die."

This frightened her further. She cautiously gripped the blade and walked on without a word. Thavan stood still but only for a moment. Her actions puzzled him.

In a matter of minutes, they were gaining on the bridge. He could see they were not far from the support beams that lowered the bridge into the town. Thavan looked to her for guidance. To his surprise, she wasn't moving.

"What's going on? Why have we stopped?" Asked Thavan anxiously.

His eyes looked on past her and saw it. A patrol of 20 or more stormvermin stood before them. All of them waited with their weapons at the ready, watching her. His heart nearly jumped from his chest as all turned to regard him and charged in formation toward them.

"Run!" He screamed. With his hand clasped in hers, he sprinted with her in tow. They bolted away from the threat. He knew if they stayed in this open street, they would be caught. He took her back through the alleys and pathways through the cities buildings. They snaked all through the city. So long as another patrol does not catch them, then maybe...just maybe they had a chance.

Thavan and Feefee scrambled through the city, encountering more and more enemies along the way. They dodged blade and paw through the labyrinth of passages that separated each building. The design was nauseating. Their fate was sealed from the moment they had been seen.

Thavan denied the feeling that snuck through the back of his mind. But as he rounded the corner of an alley and entered the street that pressed on toward the great bridge, he knew they were at the end of the line.

Skaven encompassed all corners of their path. There was no running now. The pillars that supported the great bridge was the only option. He knew he could not scale it. They were out of time and options. Thavan accepted what must be done.

"I can't make it across the river. Go, if you can. Climb the pillar and escape, or swim. Whatever you choose...choose life. I should have known this was all but a dream. I will hold them off for as long as possible. Now go."

"No!" She yelped. "If you die the plan will have..."

Thavan could no longer hear her. She mouthed the words but no sound came as a volley of machine gunfire hit the oncoming stormvermin. Armor and flesh were decimated instantly. The barrage of ordnance opened a pathway forward. Those few who survived fled from the carnage unleashed.

Thavan's eyes skimmed across the battlefield for the gunner. His orbs darted to and fro. Feefee mirrored him. Neither could discern the whereabouts of the gunner. As Thavan had given up, that was the moment they revealed themselves.

One of the buildings on his left flank caught his attention as the front door swung open. The individual behind it used their gatling gun as a battering ram against the door. The door split in half down the middle until it flung against the concrete and came to a dead halt.

As it walked down the stairwell, Thavan laid eyes upon something he had not expected. Standing at roughly six feet and two inches and weighing in well over two hundred fifty pounds of pure muscle was a ratling gunner. As he hefted the weapon upward, his black eyes scanned the area for other threats. Those eyes were resolute and methodical in their approach to locate more visible threats.

This Skaven in question was adorned with thick padding and armor. A sturdy layer of platemail covered his chest and shoulders. Leather straps connected his backpack full of ammo to his chest for even distribution of weight. A tube ran from the pack of ammo to the gun. A convenient setup.

Further down a skirt of sorts made of steel plates were lined around his waste. His spiked, and studded black gauntlets were an useful addition. Not only were they intimidating to look at, but should the fight get close, and he had no time to switch to a melee weapon, then his fist would more than suffice. His face was covered in a fully enclosed helmet. Two holes were cut around the eye sockets for the user to see. Other than that opening, the helmet covered from the muzzle to the neck.

Upon his back two steel rods hung roughly two feet above his head. Connected between those rods swayed a black flag with crimson highlights. Engraved in the flag was a deep blue equilateral triangle. The symbol of skaven unity. Above the triangle there was a skull etched into the fabric. It's features resembled that of a skaven with their signature long muzzle. But on its head there were two short horns protruding from the top of its skull.

Thavan expected the ratling gunner to fire at him and Feefee next. The killing volley never arrived. He simply observed the human male from afar in silence.

Thavan looked upward just as two sets of ropes dropped down from the bridge. Two skaven assassins cloaked in black robes and light chain-mail descended from the ropes effortlessly. Cloth wraps covered their skin. Loose layers of cloth hung from their muzzle, while a hood helped conceal their identity.

The moment they landed, another one jumped from the bridge. She used no rope or natural means to slow her fall. Her staff twirled in her arms. Instantly, her fall slowed until she landed gracefully on the ground.

The female skaven looked directly into Thavan's eyes. Her long white locks of hair swayed and twirled against her body all the way down to her kneecaps. Her orbs were unlike those of her own species. Her penetrating blue irises were mesmerizing. But the black sclera were striking. He had never stared into the eyes of one that made him feel at ease and nervous at the same time.

Just like her eyes her robes were black with blue fringes. They flowed against her like that of a swaying breeze as she walked toward Thavan. Pure, snow white fur covered her body. No signs of illness or disease were present. She, and the rest of her compatriots were the same. They were nothing like those skaven he had fought before. They appeared clean and healthy.

Thavan felt apprehensive as all eyes turned to him. "I...I don't understand. What is going on Feefee?"

She stood by him. But no words were uttered.

Instead, the white furred one spoke, "Is this him, Feefee? Is that Thavan Vanamar?"

Her voice echoed with a commanding tone but was rather soft and gentle on the surface.

Feefee stuttered on her words. "Ye...yess Zenara. But...but please be gentle. His psyche is a delicate unstable mess. They've harmed him beyond the scope of what Lord Grodmoor predicted."

Zenara cocked her head sideways and smiled. Her lips curled back into one disturbing grin. One in which Thavan flinched toward. Her maw of glistening white teeth shimmered in the low light conditions of the cavern. She clicked her rather long top and bottom incisors together and relaxed the muscles in her face.

"Have such little faith in me, do you, Feefee? Thavan is why I am here. But, we are lucky you found him. You should have never ran off when that patrol arrived. We had everything under control. Still, I will not say this mission has not gone on without consequence. I am unsure we would have located him after the missteps we have encountered. Well then, the time for talk is over. The bombs have been planted. This city will be Clan Vanmeek's tomb."

Thavan clenched his fist and startled them all as he laughed softly. As each giggle and grin become more pronounced, he begun laughing even louder. The ravings of a man who lost his mind is what he sounded like.

"I'm not letting you all take me away to be beaten and tortured again. I tried...I tried to right the wrongs I have made. And through all this, I have become something that I fought against. Chaos and madness have ruled me for too long.

Thavan turned to Feefee. The only human who stood beside him. His head throbbed, a sudden and violent headache pierced through his skull. The more he tried to focus on her, the harder it became. Thavan took a deep breath and calmed his nerves. As he opened his eyes he saw the truth that his mind warned him about. Feefee's furry face stared behind widened, frightened eyes. Her elongated face and whiskers were the visual detail he was lacking. It was nothing more than an illusion.

Thavan exhaled as a soft chuckle escaped his dried, cracked lips. "I get it now." He reached for the musket and placed it against his temple.

"I've been dying everyday; living this nightmarish union, this mirage of lies. I ceased to exist the moment they captured me so many days ago. The path was set before me and I never saw it until now. Today I make my choice. Death, by my hands, is freedom..."

Thavan eased into the trigger. Into a death that never came. Zenara instantly dispersed her physical form and reappeared behind him. She gripped his hand and forced it upward. The round discharged into the rocky caverns above. The sharp crack and echo reverberated across the eerily silent cave.

"Shhhh." She gently cooed into his ear.

Her soft fur brushed gently against his back and shoulders. It was softer and warmer than any blanket he had ever rested his head upon. Her warm breath trailed down the length of his neck. His cheeks became flushed as the hairs on his flesh stood at attention. An unusual tingling sensation traipsed across his body as he shivered to the foreign feelings coursing through him. A soft tune hummed from the back of her throat into his ear. As she pressed tighter against him he could feel her soft heartbeat thumping against his back. It slowed the erratic nature of his almost immediately.

In Zenara's free hand she utilized her magic staff, inducing a state of peace throughout his whole mind, body, and soul. The staff glowed as she twirled it near his face as his figure slowly fell back into her.

Thavan's eyes grew heavy as the torment of the world around him faded into obscurity. The figure behind him no longer troubled his mind. The warmth of her body flowed through him and warmed his subconscious. He wanted to sleep against this soft, cozy blanket for eternity if the option presented itself. His worries subsided and peace reigned.

"Do not fear me my dear human." She whispered sweetly. "I promise where you are going there will be no more torture and no more pain. They won't hurt you anymore. I won't let them..."

She nuzzled his neck and spoke even softer into his ear, "You will be safe and taken care of. Now, rest your weary head into my bosom and sleep. You're safe in these arms."

Her words flowed like honey into his waiting ears, burrowing deeper into his subconscious until he fell against her. His limp body nothing more than dead weight now.

"Rest easy, Thavan. I am here to help you. I promise." Her whispered words were so silent only he heard them as his mind traveled to a world of innocent dreams.

Zenara placed her staff outward for Feefee to take from her. She obeyed. Zenara lifted Thavan up with both hands. "He's dying. We have to get him back to base immediately. His flesh is diseased and he is heavily malnourished. Were it not for my magic, he would have had a heart attack. Since I am the fastest of us, I will carry him back. This is my duty and I want to see it through until the end as I promised. We have no time for discourse. We move now."

Her soft spoken voice altered to one of a serious tone. She knew what was at stake here and nobody would deny her this chance at redemption. And that chance, rested within delivering the human to Lord Grodmoor...

* * *

 **Thank you to all those that have shown interest in my story thus far. I hope more and more continue to review and join on this journey as I continue to upload more parts of this story. This one will be much longer than It Followed Me Home so expect a long ride ahead. I would like to let you all know that there will be moments in this story where it drifts from first person like in It Followed Me Home. I have found an easier way to drift from first to third so I highly recommend you all read this in order to understand.**

 **If I am writing in third person I will simply use 4 pound signs such as this to determine it is going to third or it has traversed to a later part in the story. Here is a demonstration.**

 **# # # #**

 **And then the story will continue from here.**

 **But if I am writing in first person there will still be pound signs but also this added on.**

 **(Thavan Vanamar / Location - Example / Time - Example)**

 **And then the story will continue just below this.**

 **I have found this to be the best way to switch between first and third without it feeling too jarring. Once again, thanks for having me on here and I hope you are enjoying this as much as I am writing it.**


	3. Chapter 2

Of Atonement And Salvation: The End Times

Chapter 2

A Choice Bred By Consequence

Written by S. J. Kandil

(Thavan Vanamar Location – Unknown Time – 01/09/2519)

Drip. Drip. Drip. The sound of fluids splashing into some sort of device stirred my waking form. My eyes remained closed as I listened for anything else out of the ordinary. Memory loss left my mind in a cloudy state. This didn't change the fact I had every reason to believe I was lying in hostile territory. And yet, my sense of touch told another story; A soft pillow lay beneath my head while silky blankets covered my bandaged body. Somebody wanted me to live. And I intended to find out why.

I recall vague aberrations and visions in my mind. A sight of torment and fear ran through the back of my conscious. This black cloud obscured my thoughts. If I jumped from the precipice, death would have surely followed. But then, a wave of peace and serenity flooded my mind. It brought me from the brink of no return as I let go of the musket. Sleep, soon followed. What does this mean? What really happened?

"Your heartbeat has steadily risen. The same can be said for your pulse. It would take no sleuth to surmise that you are awake. Why have you chosen to remain in the dark? Do you fear what may lurk on the other side?"

A voice, soft spoken and of a feminine nature called to me. There was no hint of aggression or malicious intent. An accent lingered behind her words. It was foreign but clear and understandable. She was no more than a few feet from me. Of that I was certain.

There was no reason to play coy now. I opened my eyes to the new world before me. The moment I laid my eyes upon her is when it all came back to me. It did happen, all of it.

A female skaven clad in elegantly detailed royal blue robes sat across from me. A hood ran over her head and covered part of her features. Holes ran through the hood at the top of her skull. Protruding out of those holes were short, spiraling white horns. Her black eyes and blue irises grazed across my facial features. She had a pointed, white furred muzzle that jutted out several inches from the hood. A rich accent of black coated the rim of her hood and the lining running down where it was hemmed. Crimson colored tassels hung from the robes in decorative fashion.

As she lowered her hood, I glanced downward at myself. I was lying on a solid white bed with sheets covering my lower half. It came as no surprise that my hands were cuffed to the bed by leather restraints.

Two needle-like prongs were embedded into my vein in my left arm. They were attached to soft flexible tubes. These little tubes ran up to two pouches of fluids that were pumping their contents into my vein. One was injecting a clear fluid into my vein and the other was pumping what had to be blood.

"What is this sick game your kind are playing with me? Huh? You're going to fatten me up for more torture and misery? Or, do you plan on eating me? What is it with your species, rat? Why is your kind so greedy? Has your wanton nature not waned until you have finally snuffed every ounce of my dignity away? And, judging by the restraints on my wrists, I am not welcome here."

She stood and walked two paces toward me. The skaven loomed over my bed. There was nothing I may do. I was prepared for the consequence.

"My name is not rat. It is Zenara." She rebuked harshly. "Furthermore, you are no prisoner here. Due to your mental state the doctors were unsure how you would react when seeing your 'enemy' tending to your wounds. Our mission was to save your life from the other clan. And that is what we did."

A fire burned in her eyes as her last words left her mouth. She undid the restraints and freed my hands immediately.

I rushed forward without thought or reason and found my hand clenched around her throat. I pulled her down to the bed as she kicked against my tightening grip. My eyes must have been a sight to see as she widened hers in fear. An image of madness is what I depicted. I would not let them trick me.

"Tell me, rat why I should not snap your neck where you stand? Your eyes are bulging. You're running out of time. Tell me!" My words seethed with rage as I exhaled hot breath upon her face.

She clawed at my hands but I held back her pitiful attempts at stopping me. The skaven gasped and whimpered. "We...areee...fighting...chaos. I've nursed you back...back to tooo health...We want you..to...live."

"Why for? Nobody wipes out another faction unless they have damn good reason to capture me. You are withholding information from me. I am no longer your species plaything."

I found myself loosening my grip on her throat, granting her a breath of fresh air.

"My entire clan is enemies to your captors. Your answers you seek will be told in full by Lord Grodmoor. I can assure you!" Her pleading words mixed with the fear in her eyes forced me to pause.

There was honesty behind her statements. She meant what she said. Or is it that her poisonous words swayed me? Soon, I will find out. In reluctance I retracted my grip. The rat fell forward against the bed and braced herself. Zenara choked on fresh air as she stood up and took several steps from me.

My eyes skimmed downward at the unkempt blankets. Our scuffle caused a small ruckus. I lowered the blanket further and saw my entire body was covered in gauze and bandages. Some wounds were sewn shut with stitches. All I had on was a pair of soft trousers for bed. There was no shirt on my bandaged chest.

"This is a game. You think these bandages will persuade me in believing your people intend to aid me? I think not."

She turned her back to me and took a few steps toward a shelf with books detailing human physiology and medicinal needs.

"You...you didn't snap my neck. You had the chance but you stopped. You must, at the very least, believe me to some degree. We are not that clan. We had nothing to do with your torture. Either you take me at face value or not. I hate them. Would I..." She began coughing deeply and cupped her hand to her mouth. Spit mixed with blood coated the palm of her hand."...have set you free if I didn't mean well?"

Zenara gripped a towel on a table and wiped her mouth and hand with it. She then continued, "In fact, we buried your captors alive beneath tons of rock. If any had survived the explosions, then they will starve to death in a pitch black tomb. They were an enemy of our species. They were granted only what they deserved. We are not your enemy, Thavan Vanamar."

As she turned to face me, there was a twinkling light in her eyes and a calmness to her voice. It was indescribable.

"How do you know my name? And what does this clan want from me?"

She looked at me blankly. "Are you hearing me? Is everything all there in your mind? I may have to have them check on you further. Do you realize you are repeating yourself? Let me say this one final time; I myself am not at liberty of discussing this topic with you. That is a matter Lord Grodmoor would gladly explain in detail with you further as I have stated. He is the one who sanctioned the mission to save you. Your first concern must be your health. But know this; his reason is not malicious. You have nothing to fear."

I nodded. There may have been truth to her words, but I have seen firsthand how her species acts. I cannot trust them. I realize that I must resign myself to this fate. I am a guest and I must play along like the good mouse I am.

"What is the purpose of those fluids you are putting inside me? What is that thing? Can you answer this question? Or is this something for Grodmoor as well?" My condescending tone had no affect on her.

She walked toward the liquids and cupped the bag. "There's a concoction of fluids in here. A light sedative to maintain a smooth heart rate. The doctors and myself included were concerned about your irregular heartbeat. While you were asleep on occasions it would beat so rapidly we thought you were on the verge of having a heart attack. Other times it appeared you were about to go into cardiac arrest as the heart slowed its beating to a trickle. You have been under close observation since we brought you here. We surmised that it may have been due to the parasites and other abnormalities that resided beneath your diseased body. That is also what is within this pouch, things to cleanse your body of the filth those skaven subjected you too."

Zenara eyed the blood pack. "I needn't say what is in here? Hmmm? Your loss of hemoglobin was profound. How you made it through that arena is beyond me."

She took a deep breath and sighed. "Honestly, our surgeons and doctors didn't think you would make it. And yet, you are here." Her lips curled into a smirk.

I nodded. My need for knowledge sated on that topic. "How long..."

A sudden and violent cough restricted my ability to speak. It was hoarse, throaty, and filled with phlegm. I went to cover my mouth as it grew worse. A splatter of blood mixed with phlegm landed on my hand and between my fingertips.

"Dammit!" She cursed as she rushed to a basin of fluids, filled it with ice cold water in a wooden cup, and then proceeded to hand it to me.

I eyed the fluids for only but a moment and then submitted to my need for refreshments. She gripped a towel sitting on a stool next to my bed and then sat on the bed with me. She gripped my hand and gingerly wiped the blood from it. Her focus was entirely on my health. I have never met or seen anybody place such importance upon me, especially after what I did to her. I didn't want it though. I didn't want her concern.

Our eyes locked. Each orb examined every detail on our countenance. It seemed as if time stilled as she held my hand. This was wrong. "Let go of my hand now. Do not touch me." I growled at her with venomous eyes.

Zenara submitted and removed her hand from mine just as she finished wiping away the blood.

"One month" She muttered. "It has been one month since we found you. You have slept ever since. Still, that bloody cough only confirmed my suspicions. You are still ill. I will need to consult the doctors about this."

"Are you hungry, Thavan?"

As if it were on cue, my stomach rumbled assuredly while I nodded.

"Good. I'll return soon with a doctor."

As she walked to the door, her hand went to turn the knob but she stopped and turned to face me. "Thavan, Leaving these bindings unfastened could get others hurt. I can handle myself and I paid the consequence for my decision."

She gripped her neck and rubbed it once more. The skin was already irritated. It was red and bruised from my grip. "I know it is tough on you but I am asking you to trust me, as I am trusting you. I know you have only known torment from my kind. But please, do not try to flee. You are sick and in great need of our help."

I closed my eyes and ruminated over her words. The most I could grant her was a nod not enforced by words of encouragement. I had none to offer and none to give. Would I actually try to make a break for it? No. In my physical state I would be lucky enough to get out of the front door without wheezing. Zenara departed as I was left to my own devices.

I examined the room before me. It was a rather spacious medical chamber filled with all manner of odds and ends. An ornate cabinet sat a few meters from me. It was stockpiled with medicinal items and potions.

A faint beating sound forced my eyes to examine elsewhere. On a large piece of parchment a needle slowly rung up and downward across the paper. The material fell to the floor as more parchment rose upward and out of some sort of tube to maintain a steady stream of paper across the device. Was it monitoring my heart rate? Their technology was unlike anything I have ever seen. And to think, I once thought humanity were the most advanced in the world. Was that the speciest in me? Or did I truly believe that nonsense?

What shocked me beyond everything else was the cleanliness of the room. It was immaculate and would rival the fancy and posh ballrooms of the upper class of human society. It seemed impossible when one looked through my eyes and lived in the filth of their society. Even their city was rancid.

The skaven of this clan are nothing like the others I have encountered and that worries me. Is it all but a ruse? I cannot say. For now, I will rest as she has instructed. My thoughts suddenly grew heavy as I pulled the covers up and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

# # # #

(Thavan Vanamar Location – Skaven medical ward)

"Hey there, it's time to wake up. I have food for you."

Zenara's voice pulled me from my sleepy state. I groggily sat upward and wiped my eyes of gunk that formed around the eyelids. When my eyes popped open, I was greeted by the sight of two individuals. Zenara and another skaven.

This one was dressed in black and gray robes. Beneath that layer was a fine linen tunic with multiple pockets filled with medical tools. The silver chain of a pocket watch lay attached to his vest.

A deep throaty rasp echoed as the brown furred skaven spoke. "It is good to see you are awake and coherent, Mr Vanamar. I am doctor Skreek. I trust you and Zenara have been getting along?"

He extended his hand to me. A gesture of solidarity. A gesture, I ignored. He coughed nervously and ground his large front incisors together.

"Yes, Skreek. Everything has gone smoothly. Isn't that right, Vanamar?"

I shrugged. "If you say so."

Skreek lowered his hand as I began speaking. "How is it possible your kind has managed to utilize and procure such advanced technology? These medical supplies are unlike anything I have ever seen on my time above the surface. We, no, our use of modern medicine is abysmally archaic in comparison to yours. I've witnessed untold numbers of lives lost due to our ignorance. This puzzles me. What is it I do not see?"

Skreek nodded. "It is not your fault that your kind hasn't advanced faster than others. Our advancements have come at volatile risks. None of the other clan members would have been able to achieve what Clan Skryre has accomplished. When they are not constantly crafting war machines, they are capable of bringing great things into this world. Through their scheming and machinations one may be able to glimpse at a tiny piece of sanity behind their madness, if only for a moment. When breakthroughs are utilized on the well being for all, well...you see first hand what it may bring."

My head shook in confusion as my face scrunched. "Clan Skryre? Your species operates under clans? I've heard Zenara mention this before. How many others are there?"

The rats eyes beamed at my curiosity. "The skaven operate as one by the Council of Thirteen. Twelve of those seats are led by the heads of the largest skaven clans. Those who hold those seats are known as the Lords of Decay. But there are hundreds more that fight daily to gain a foothold through the skaven ring of power. Oh, I forgot to mention, the thirteenth seat is empty. That seat is granted to our 'god' the Great Horned Rat."

His emphasis on the word god caught my attention. "Do you have disdain for this god of yours?"

"Disdain is a sweet way of putting emphasis upon my feelings concerning this topic. I have no love for skaven society. It is barbaric and lawless. The same can be said for their god. Where I am now is the future of skavendom. But my political beliefs are not what you asked. Where was I?"

He continued to grind his teeth together while his hand slid into his pocket and clicked his watch open. He checked the time, then closed it shut. "Ah yes, The four Great Clans. These are the ones with the pull to force skavendom down their nefarious path. Sometimes it is a tug of war upon which path we must go. And so, like many times before, our people will be brought into an inevitable civil war. As skaven debate always ends, in bloodshed. These four great clans are as follows: Eshin, Skryre, Moulder and Pestilens. But now is not the time for a history lesson. If you'd like, I can bring you some books to read on our history as you recover. Would you like that?"

I nodded assuredly.

"Fair enough." He said. "Now, onto the important topic. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Although, I am sore, tired, and hungry."

"So, no pain of any sort?"

"No Skreek. No pain." I said as I stretched my hands in the air and popped my back at the same time.

He shook his head rapidly. A bright twinkle lit in his eyes. "That's great! That means the medicine is working. Would you be kind enough to lower the blankets around your chest so I may see the stitching?"

I complied and noted the needlework they had performed on me from my injuries I sustained in the arena were phenomenal. It was all so clean and sterile. Even the gauze wrapped around was pearly white.

"No sign of infection. Your skin appears a few shades lighter than natural. But that may be from the lack of blood? We were lucky we had a stockpile of the stuff. You went through a large amount of it, nearly wiped us out of the stuff." He chuckled lightly.

"How many humans did you kill for that?" I eyed him sternly.

"What-what?" He squeaked out nervously.

"Forget it. Continue."

"Oh...alright." He laughed nervously. "Now, may I check your pulse? I need to grab your wrist."

"I'd rather you not...but go ahead."

He walked closer to me and gripped my wrist with a firm but light hold. "The amount of medicine necessary for your survival was a concern of mine. I feared it may harm you, that our physiology was too far apart and the ratio would be inconclusive. Size, stature, skaven, human, I analyzed all possible avenues but it seems everything checks out. Your pulse is steady. You'll be good as new in no time."

Silence filled the room as he stepped away from me and gripped a cotton ball and some sticky material from the many cabinets occupying the room. He returned to my side. "I'm going to extract the syringe from your vein. Do I have your permission?"

"Yes."

As he pulled the needle from my flesh I noticed the smell of food wafting in the air. That was the moment I spotted Zenara grasping a bowl with her left hand.

"I made you some soup. It is mostly filled with tubers, bitter herbs and rendered fat along with whatever fresh chicken meat I could gather up. We've been hard pressed for stockpiled goods. It is hard to feed a growing army when one cannot sustain a farm in an underground cavern."

She sighed deeply and chuckled. "Listen to me, you have no desire in hearing my personal qualms. Anyway, I hope it is palatable yes-yes?"

Her free hand immediately covered the front of her mouth. Zenara's eyes opened so wide one might compare them to an owls.

The doctor laughed heartily to my confusion and her outburst. "You see, Thavan, Zenara has tried her hardest to master your language. Those words, spoken quickly and repeated twice is a byproduct of our own language. It is a very harsh language and spoken in multiple grunts and the repeating of phrases. When we get excited and or if we are poorly taught on the language in question, what she did is what can happen. And, since Zenara has excelled in your form of communication, I would say the former is in effect."

Her skin became flushed to his words. Was she blushing?

My mouth salivated for the morsel before me. "If it tastes as good as it smells, then she has nothing to worry about."

That only seemed to worsen it as she became even more quiet and passive. I don't see what her problem is.

Skreek had just finished attaching the cotton ball and that stuff known as tape to my arm. He then stepped to the foot of my bed. "I'd like for you to be on bed rest for another couple days but you have a meeting with our illustrious supreme leader. Before you exert yourself, I implore you to take it easy to prevent yourself from straining further. You came from one dark spot. I would like to see that not happen again. I will return from time to time. Not only to check up on that bloody cough, but to ensure you recover properly. Well, I have other patients to attend too. I will leave you in the care of Zenara."

He departed abruptly, leaving Zenara and myself alone in this room. She walked toward me while pulling up a chair. She cradled the bowl with both hands. Her arms pressed outward as she extended the bowl to me. There it was and it was mine. Food, delicious food. The moment my hands gripped the bowl they suddenly trembled around the rim. I lost my grip and I was going to lose my dinner! The burning contents were set to tip and scald my chest. Zenara was prepared for this. She was much swifter than I thought her to be as she caught the contents in her free hand.

Her lips pursed and then altered to a coy smirk. "Perhaps I should hold the food for you?" Her voice raised an octave higher. She appeared amused.

"How am I recovering when I cannot even feed myself?"

She interjected. "Can't you just shush and accept the help?"

"Can't you just shush." I repeated with exaggerated eyes and mouth.

"What a condescending tone you have. I forgot baby witch hunters need their naps and food before they go on their killing sprees."

"Very funny, I almost forgot to laugh."

"Thavan, Do you truly hate us that much?"

That was unexpected and took me completely off guard. Her question had merit. And I was willing to bite.

"Considering my main interactions with your species was watching your kind devour my comrades alive, and then I am forced to live on in some sort of pseudo-slavery as a pet to fight for their amusement has left a rather sour taste in my mouth. And what happens? Your kind enter into the fray and I am a pawn once more. So, to answer your question, yes more than you know."

Her response came in the form of a spoonful of soup right toward my mouth. The hot broth assaulted my taste buds with a flurry of flavor unlike anything I have tasted in a long time. The herbs accentuated the meat and broth exceptionally. I forgot how good a warm, hot meal was. It was delicious!

Zenara parted her lips and sighed exaggeratedly. "Humor me if you will, Thavan? If a human, or better yet, a dwarf of a rogue clan were to kill your allies and then enslave you, would you then believe that all dwarfs are the same?"

Her tail rested at her side. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed it began vibrating rapidly. Her whiskers were frazzled. She was stressed.

My decision was made. "No, I would not." I said in a matter of fact tone. "I know of the differences in the dwarfs. They have been an ally to my species. But all I know from your kind is what I have seen since this all began. I...I shouldn't be alive right now. I feel that my body died the day my allies fell. And now I am trapped in this endless hell. Something within me feels wrong. Like something shut down the person I once was. This mind rape of constant torment and no reprieve has shown its true colors on my mental capacity. I don't know how to describe it. I just know I am scarred and the feeling of life has left me."

It was clear in her features she knew not what to say. That was alright. If this situation were the opposite, I would be lost on words. I wasn't expecting a response. Her tail started to shake more violently. Whether that was due to my statement or something else, well, that is anybodies guess. I needed to stop this though.

"If this consoles you then allow me to say this; should your clan mean what you are saying, then prove me wrong. I am not unreasonable. Should what you say point to the alternative and your actions show otherwise, then you will have my trust. This is all I can offer you."

Her reactions were even worse to my words. She was harboring something that I did not see. She dodged my statement and changed the subject. "Come on. Let's get you fed. After that I will take you to the person who will answer your questions better than I."

# # # #

(Thavan Vanamar Location – Unknown)

We walked down the hallway toward a large set of double doors. The durable and sturdy doors were finished with a dark oaken color. Along the length of the hall, rows of candles sat on candelabras all around us. The entire hall was set ablaze beneath the backdrop of the fiery flickering nature of the flames.

I am ashamed to admit this but being up again was harder than I thought. I didn't show it to her but my muscles were on fire. The soreness of my body and the creaking of bones was not reassuring. To make matters worse, It was tough just walking around. As if my legs were not functioning properly. No wonder Skreek told me to take it easy.

Zenara supplied me with a loose fitting buttoned up shirt and trousers. Both were white. With no weapons on my person, I felt naked.

As we approached the doors they opened instantly. And that, was when I saw him.

Sitting atop a black throne was a skaven of immense stature and muscle. His clawed hands rested on the thrones armrests as his glowing red eyes watched me from afar. At the front of the throne, below the armrests were hand carved skaven skulls etched into the base. Ruby red gems filled their empty sockets. Above him lay a black flag several stories high attached to the ceiling and draping all the way down to us. Engraved upon it was a blue equilateral triangle. Above that glistened a white skaven skull, with horns protruding out. The horns immediately made me think of Zenara's.

A great chandelier handcrafted with intense detail hung from the middle of the grand hall. Row upon row of candles sat cradled in their base on the chandelier. Their twinkling light shone across the throne room and illuminated all of us below.

A silver colored rug ran the length of the room. From the entrance to his seat. Massive pillars jutted from the floor to the ceiling. All were uniform in appearance, but they had sharp cuts that indented the pillars inward. Spikes and bizarre symbols and emblems trailed up each pillar. To have each and every one of these hand carved must have taken years to accomplish.

The skaven leader rose as we neared. My eyes looked up higher and higher. One would understand my shock if they saw this being. There was no doubt in my mind that he stood well over 7 feet with ease. This skaven was a monster. He was built like a bull and I would not want to be the one he targeted.

He was adorned in a layer of hardened leather and chain-mail armor. A heavy wool lined coat hung loosely against his armor and down to his legs. The colors were that of the flag. Black and varying accents of blue. At the point where the limbs bend at the elbows and kneecaps, the armor was connected by straps and protected by chainmail. I presumed it would allow him to maintain some agility. This suit of armor was far more ceremonial in appearance than designed for warfare. This is most likely what he wore in formal meetings.

"Thavan Vanamar." His voice grunted deeply. "I trust my people have cared for your needs. You look much better than when you arrived. I am Grodmoor of Clan Grozen. Welcome to my sanctuary."

His voice growled deeply through each word. It sounded as if his tongue dragged through gravel on every word pronounced. It was intimidating, and yet, he showed no hostility.

I skipped conversation and headed right for the necessary questions. "Why am I here? Why did you save my life? What do you hope to benefit by using me? And for the sake of this conversation do not play coy. Nobody in their right mind blows up another faction unless they have a damn good reason. That reason was me. Did the humans pay you to search for me?"

He gripped the underside of his muzzle and scratched it. "It would be a relief to know your kind tried to locate you. I am sorry to state that it was my plan to pluck you from their grasp. No humans know what happened to you and your comrades. They blocked the mine and condemned it. To the human society, you are a ghost."

A pang of sadness touched my heart. They have forgotten all those that died. What a waste of life for a foolish mission! All those men are dead and for nothing! It almost seems that it was all set up. By whom I wonder?

Zenara took a few steps forward and then turned around to face me. Grodmoor walked forward until we were standing mere feet from each other.

"I'm sorry." He admitted. "I understand your state of mind is troubled. Because of this, I shan't mince words. We are on the cusp of the End Times. Do you know anything about this phenomenon?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "We live one violent and bloody slippery slope. The end seems constant."

Grodmoor shook his head. "It's not that simple. The Chaos Gods tire of this endless cycle. They intend to wipe the slate clean of all life on this world. They'll murder, rape, and kill all of those who resist until there is nothing left to take. How? You may ask. By an alliance forged for the same purpose I just described. Khorne, Nurgle, Slaanesh and Tzeentch the four chaos gods will ally for this grand crusade. I should know, for I have seen it."

His words seemed unreal even as they were spoken. What he was saying would appear impossible. The only thing the chaos gods hate more than us is each other. On the other hand, humanity scoffed at the thought of rat men and look what that brought us.

"And let me guess, I play a part in this somehow?"

"Indeed." He said grimly.

"I know of your past, Thavan." With an extended arm he pointed to my heart.

"I also know that you have been touched by black magic. The winds of magic itself pours into you. You need not use a staff or a book. At your command, magic flows. You're an anomaly. One touched by chaos, yet born of free will. I wish to see but one thing in my life; the complete destruction of the chaos gods and their stranglehold over this world. Through you, I surmise the key might be found..."

I looked away from him, unable to face the truth. A truth that has hammered away at me and damaged my character in the Cult of Sigmar since my initiation. I've always been hated by my own people. I truly believe they thought of me as a mutant unfit for life.

"Very few people know the exact backstory related to my past. The majority only know stories and made up fiction to embellish something that is unnecessary and useless information concerning me. My accomplishments are all they need to know. So, how is it that a skaven leader learned of me?"

Grodmoor lowered his hand as his coat flowed against his armor. "I have my sources."

"Ah, okay." My response came sarcastically.

I began pacing across the room as my mind worked through all the paths moving forward. "So, you know of my past and you claim the End Times have come. And you simply expect me to believe these claims? You're asking a lot out of me."

His eyes looked to Zenara's She nodded. "I do not. That is why Zenara will show you the proof you seek."

"Why her?" I demanded.

"Because she is where I learned of this knowledge. She is the truth you seek."

Discourse lasted a lot longer than I realized. Hours passed by as we debated and discussed more topics and the inevitable war that would come. I'd been pacing for what seemed to be an eternity while Grodmoor sat upon his throne once more. Sharp spikes of pain ran up my thighs and down to my feet. My legs were not my friend today.

"Okay, let's say I take everything you say at face value, I will not support you or your people until I see the proof firsthand. When I leave this throne room, I want the proof."

Zenara turned to Grodmoor. "Wait, he has only just awakened. If we show him this before he is at his top strength...the repercussions could have lasting affects on him!"

"You don't speak for me. If you want me complicit, then prove it."

Grodmoor looked to Zenara. "I agree with you but if he insists, there is nothing I can do. We knew the risks."

"I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself."

She signed deeply. "You are a foolish man!" A vein in her temple tightened. It seems I have raised the ire of the female skaven.

I decided to change the subject. "What about your species? I've spent a lot of time watching and learning about your kind. I have seen them with my own two eyes how they back stab each other at a moments notice. How do I know the same won't happen to my species when this is all said and done?"

Grodmoor reached for a goblet seated upon his armrest. He was drinking some form of alcohol. Even from here I could smell the strength in it.

"This is where you are going to have trust us as we have trusted you. I have contingency plans in place to reign in my species. It is your kind I am worried about."

Nothing would be gained from pressing that topic. "Your kind eat my species. How can you rally what despises us? Furthermore, you are but one clan of many more."

With goblet in hand, Grodmoor sat forward. "My species does not speak for me. Neither for my clan. Like a phoenix we will be reborn by the blood of the skaven's transgressions. They will scream. They will die. Only then can order be maintained. A great culling is necessary if we are to gain control of the masses. I want humanity on my side. And through that, I intend to show the world we are a reliable species. If that means I must kill half of my kind to bring order, well...what is that phrase you humans say? The end justifies the means."

I nodded and walked to his throne. "And you want me to fight for you?"

He narrowed his eyes and looked directly into mine. "In a manner of speaking, yes."

My need for knowledge was sated. I raised my hand to stop him from anything else. "If she is the key, then show me that which it unlocks."

# # # #

(Thavan Vanamar Location – Clan Grozen Compound)

Seated across from me in a large windowless room was Zenara. We were both propped up on large pillows. Her eyes darted to and fro. Her gaze refused to meet mine.

The featureless room was painted black with small white specks dotting across the surface. It resembled the universe when looking across the sky in the dead of night.

At the end of the room there was the exit. A few candles sat on stands to illuminate us. Other than these few things, there wasn't much to look at in here.

We sat in silence until Grodmoor appeared. The moment he opened the door, Zenara spoke brusquely with an agitated tone. "This is the last time. Do you hear me? No more. We shouldn't even be doing this under his condition, but he has 'insisted'." She emphasized.

Grodmoor nodded without uttering a word.

"You will stand watch?" She questioned.

"Yes." He said. "You need not worry. Preparations are complete. You may carry on when you see fit."

"Fine." Cold and bitter is how I might describe the way she spoke that one word.

Grodmoor turned to leave but not before she said one last thing. "Nobody is to enter this room under any conditions. No matter what you or anybody else hears. I must protect him as I must protect myself."

"Rest easy, nobody will bother you. You have my word. You'd think by now there would be more trust between us, Zenara."

Her gaze never once wavered. She was resolute. "There is, but you have never heard what it is like to experience this trauma as one from an outside perspective. Their screams are...I don't want to talk about it. Now, it is time. Let me work."

The decision was made. His cue led him out the door but not before closing it behind him.

"I would like for you to scoot closer to me, Thavan."

I complied and pulled the pillow underneath me toward her. We were merely inches from each other now. The sweet smelling scent of lavender and honey wafted from her clothing and body. The pleasing aroma was heavenly. That was something I would never admit to her.

"May I place my hand upon you?"

Her question was sincere. She stared at me in a timid fashion through lidded eyes and a parted mouth. I knew her intention was to keep me calm. It was clear she was the one who was not calm. I acquiesced. She placed the palm of her hand upon my neck and the lower part of my cheek.

"You are going to see a vision; one in which I spent many years trying to decipher. I stumbled onto something while I was searching for more knowledge upon magic and its origin. Sometime ago I cracked the code and tore a portal from my mind into the future. I saw with my own eyes what our future entails. This vision is the end of everything. You will see firsthand what has yet to come."

Zenara looked seriously into my eyes and squeezed my neck gently. "This process is highly traumatic and damaging to the mind. I will show you and once that is done, this will end. My psyche will tear if I am not careful. Or worse, you may find yourself cutting me down as I babble about chaos, bound and shackled by their insanity. That is the risk I take when I pull into this display of unnatural power."

Zenara took a long and deep breath. "Now, with that said, I must ask you to remain calm. Take slow, exaggerated breaths. As this process unfolds, our minds will meld as one. You must trust me with your life. If there is any doubt, this may have unforeseen consequences. Do you follow?"

I looked into her deep blue eyes and nodded. "You have my trust. I will offer you my vulnerability in body and in mind."

She looked me over but one second before nodding. "Well, I have said enough. Let's begin."

Zenara's staff rested at her hip. She gripped it in her right hand. My heart-rate quickened. Was this fear? I tried my best to calm my nerves. She started to hum a soft tune. Soon after, my eyes grew heavy.

"Trathala essara eno sala." Her words echoed across the room in comparison to whispers carried on the wind. She placed her forehead against mine as everything around me blackened until she was all I felt. That too came to a close until silence gripped me, and then...

# # # #

Wind. The biting shriek of wind followed by unknown noises and explosions passed on by. Past his mind and beyond. He was driven to this point in time. To see the end of a dead world. To see the end times.

An open wound painted the planet in blood and disease. It was a sore filled with sickness, aching to pulse its way across the world. The stench alone would send those in attendance into a dry heaving fit. It was rancid. An odorous nightmare of piss and half rotten people lay strewn across a mighty battlefield. It was all so unreal.

Thavan watched each and every scene play out. He witnessed millions upon millions of men, women, and children crucified or impaled atop hills of scorched earth overlooking fallen kingdoms. Thousands of years of rich history was snuffed in but a matter of days.

The unlucky ones who were left behind were raped and murdered. The smell of blood and spent bowels wafted through the air like spoiled milk. His people were slaughtered and there was nothing he could do but watch.

Hundreds of thousands fled from their lands to make a final stand with their human allies in the land of the Empire of Man. In a world of chaos, it was the last bastion of hope. There would come no reprieve for the inhabitants of this world. Nothing to pull them from the brink.

And at that moment Thavan saw him. Archaon The Everchosen riding atop a black steed with flames burning so fiercely in its eyes they burned like torches in the darkness. Archaon's great horned helm concealed his identity as he raised his flaming sword to battle. He was the harbinger of The End Times.

The four great chaos clans and all of their members stood behind him screaming in one tumultuous battle cry as the Everchosen descended upon the last city until there was nothing left to kill.

To his surprise, even Morrslieb, the dark companion moon to Mannslieb, was struck down, its remnants smashing into the planet and destroying an entire continent along with all of the skaven with it.

All of this death and violence transpired over multiple years. For Thavan, it was compressed into seconds. His mind and psyche relentlessly bombarded with the horrors of the future world. Everything before him immolated in flame. The world burned on and its pieces flew through the air like scraps of parchment set ablaze until all died. There was nothing that remained as the world caved in and the planet imploded. But it wasn't over yet.

The low thrumming beat of a drum forced Thavan to turn around and face a new revelation. His eyes observed the sight of snowflakes whipping hard against the cracking of wind across a great chasm and through the snow-peaked mountains above. All around him a blizzard raged as it deposited its fury onto the planet from the heavens on high.

Across from him stood a figure. A figure he wished he never saw. Adorned in clothing mirroring that of a witch hunter with a fresh coat of black paint, stood a pale skinned individual. The signature appearance to a Cult of Sigmar witch hunter was prevalent throughout his clothing. And yet, this was a perversion of that look.

Spikes jutted out of the clothing and through his shoulder blades. Blood seeped down the wounds and coated the snow in crimson. Omitted from the hat was the appearance of the twin tailed comet. In its stead, crested the eight pointed star of chaos. In the middle of the symbol was a demonic eye with a slit for a pupil. Its purplish hue contrasted starkly to the rusted red color of the star.

As soon as it noticed Thavan, its face twisted into a macabre grin. Razor sharp fangs were revealed in front of bloody gums. His sclera glowed a deep purple color while his pupil and iris were as black as the nights sky. Black, bloodshot veins shot all throughout his eyeballs in differing directions. It almost looked as if the eyes were tearing from within.

Thavan stared into a mirror image of himself. One tainted by the poison of chaos. Upon its right hand it held a short dagger coated in dripping blood. Beyond him, in the foreground, their laid a figure obscured by the blizzard.

As soon as Thavan witnessed all of this before him, it ended abruptly. His questions would not be answered, for the world blackened, and he was plucked from this aberration...

# # # #

Thavan returned to reality in a fit of insanity. His screaming wails could be heard throughout the halls and beyond. Zenara gripped his wrists, restraining him from clawing his eyes out with his fingernails. Tears of blood gushed forth from his bloodshot eyes. Thavan struggled against her as his mind could barely fathom the images of pain burned into his psyche.

"We have to stop them! They cannot...they cannot be allowed to prevail! We have to kill them all!" His blood curdling screams and grief stricken words pierced her core like a roaring flood. She could feel all of his pain and misery. She ached for him because she herself knew what it felt like witnessing something not meant for our mortal minds to fathom. It was beyond incomprehensible.

Thavan quit resisting her as his hands slumped into his lap. His hands twitched violently from spent nerves while his body trembled. They remained like that for some time. As Zenara reached for him to comfort the sobbing man, once again another fit erupted.

"Stop trying to touch me! Stop acting like you care! As soon as my purpose is served you will rid yourself of me and..."

His words never came. The exhaustion from the sight of The End Times caused him to pass out. Thavan closed his eyes and fell forward. Zenara was quick to catch him.

She pulled him against her bosom and held him tightly. She lowered her gaze to his. His heartbeat thumped violently against her. She began wiping the tears from his cheeks as she nuzzled her face against his. Her warm and soft breaths trailed down his face.

"Shhh. It will be alright. Just lay against me and take deep breaths. You're safe. It's all over now."

Zenara laid back on the floor as Thavan's sleeping figured snuggled up to her. She knew falling to sleep was the best option for him. He needed his rest. That would calm his heart.

She feared he was going to die. Those fears were alleviated as he passed out. Things of this nature wore down the body and mind immensely. It relieved her that he was alright.

Zenara would do whatever it took to repay Thavan tenfold for what has happened to him. She never wished that upon anybody. She would take the yelling and the pain if only it helped him but a little. It was the least she could do after...

One tear dripped from Zenara's eye upon Thavan's face. He stirred but she quickly wiped the fluid from his cheek. She cursed herself for her emotions. This wasn't about her and she wouldn't let it be.

Even though she maintained her composure for his sake, the results were undeniable. She felt her core fracturing as her mind nearly split in two. The immense weight it brought on her was nearly unbearable. It grew worse whenever she channeled that speck of future sight. If she were to do it again, she would surely die.

Still, Zenara was perplexed. She could feel the moment the vision ended. She felt the tide of darkness flow across his mind. But as she tried to pull him back, something resisted her. Whatever Thavan saw, was beyond the original vision she witnessed. Whatever it was, it tormented him greatly. And this troubled her more than she wished to admit.

She looked at his still figure as he calmed himself against her and his heart pumped in regular intervals. She pulled him closer to her and looked at his features. His white flesh and black hair was nothing like her species appearance. The shape of his nose and pinkish lips made his features and looks seem alien in nature. And yet...why is there this feeling? Why?

Zenara brushed her thoughts aside and reflected on the one thing that worried her above all else; The End Times were nigh. She only hoped that that vision never became their reality.


	4. Chapter 3

Of Atonement And Salvation: The End Times

Chapter 3

The Unraveling Agenda

Written by S. J. Kandil

Within the armory stood a stoic Thavan Vanamar. Beside him, Grodmoor.

"Walking around in hospital attire whilst in the midst of combat isn't conducive to a healthy life. And so, while you slept, my suitors performed the proper measurements and inspected your human clothing in order to mirror what you are familiar with. This was their creation."

Grodmoor strode past racks of swords and firearms toward multiple suits of armor worn on dummy mannequins. There were varying types of armor on display. From cloth-like robes designed for the stealthy Eshin assassins to the heavy mail and plate of Stormvermin armor and their many variants. The differing types were astounding to Thavan's eyes.

At the center of the armory stood a lone circular shaped metallic vessel roughly the height of Thavan. Next to it on a pole was a console with a few buttons. Grodmoor pressed but one. Upon release of the button, a sharp and instant hiss echoed from the cylinder. Both parts of the cylinder split in two and ran down the length of the vessel until they closed into their base at the bottom of the cylinder.

With the contents now revealed, Thavan stepped forward. Perched on a pole with arms was a set of mint condition witch hunter gear. A wide brimmed hat with the blue skaven equilateral triangle stitched into the base of the hat sat waiting for someone to lay claim. The skaven skull with spiraling horns rested above the deep cerulean blue triangle. This emblem was the face of Clan Grozen and Thavan would be that face. Finally, crested near the top of the hat was the infamous twin tailed comet. A symbol like that was something Thavan thought he would never see again.

Below the hat was the next part of the uniform. A tunic and thick leather belt were buckled together, just waiting for someone to use them in combat. Thavan gripped the tunic and ran his hands across the material. It was not only sturdy but he guessed it may be imbued with magical properties for extra protection.

As if sensing his thoughts, Grodmoor spoke, "Our skaven mages went to great lengths to ensure a comfortable fit and also one that will save your life. It won't protect from everything but certain attacks you will be able to brush aside. If the area is repeatedly damaged, then I cannot guarantee it will offer the same amount of protection."

That settles that then. Thavan looked on elsewhere and observed the little details of the belt. Along the center of the belt and running all the way across it were metallic equalaterial triangles. This not only added a sense of flair, but also showed the world who this property belonged too.

"We studied about your kind. Not only their ways but also the nature in which they go about crafting gear. I had an assortment of spies educate themselves and jot down the relevant information to craft this clothing. There is one fatal flaw I observed while going over the diagrams with my blacksmiths. The witch hunter gear is intimidating but lacks protection. How can one go about protecting humanity when you are wearing gear not suitable for the rigors of warfare? Impossible? I think not. Take the trousers as a perfect example. You'll find they have some heft to them. This is in due in part because they are inlaid with a metallic alloy dug from the core of this planet. My smiths have coined it Moorian ore. Something I wasn't too fond of but I digress. Iron and steel have no form of comparison to this kind of protection. I guarantee it. A stab to the knee will no longer demand a career ending take down. It will fold with the attack and cushion the blow. It'll hurt, but you'll survive. I have supplied a set of faulds that accompany this uniform to strap around your waist. It is not necessary but I recommend them as they are also crafted of Moorian ore."

Grodmoor point to the set on the pole and turned to Thavan who remained quiet. "It may not be what is standard issue for an average witch hunter, but we are at war and we will need the best means of protection possible. A layer of chainmail surrounding the weakest parts of your body might be a good fit. We have different types should you need only portions of coverage."

Grodmoor walked behind the set of armor and turned it around. The black cape had clan Grozen's insignia woven through it.

"It's not just for show either." He chuckled. "Same as the trousers, it will protect you as an added layer of defense. Most small arms fire and weaker weaponry should struggle to tear through. A thin layer of alloy is embedded into the cape. A painful and long process. At least, that is what the ones who craft it claim."

Grodmoor walked back toward Thavan and stared down at him. "I entrusted my suitors upon making something that would not only be familiar to you but also protect you from the many horrors we have yet to face. I oversaw its creation. You needed something that would adhere to your beliefs. And now, your silence concerns me. You are like a stonewall. There is no sign of what you are feeling. You have me at a disadvantage here, Vanamar. What are your thoughts?" An anxious Grodmoor asked with bated breath.

Thavan coughed, whether forcefully or not is up for debate. He gripped his chin and paused. "Had I seen this before Zenara revealed that vision, we would be having a different conversation this moment in time. Through vehemence and a violent disposition, I would have shunned this mockery...this copycat of my holy order I once called my own. I would feel sick at the proposition of wearing that which I no longer am part of. I'd hate you and your kind further for parading me around like a mockery of my former self."

Thavan walked past Grodmoor and turned the armor to face him once more. His left hand gripped the tunic. "Then I am reminded of what I bear witnessed through these eyes. Fire, death, and misery. This isn't about me, nor my pride. Our future is at stake. What do I see here you may ask? With open eyes I glance upon a gift. A gift meticulously crafted with care and precision. One that would not only surpass the human made version but also put my people to shame if this performs as well as it appears it will."

Thavan let go of the outfit and turned to face Lord Grodmoor. His red eyes looked down at Thavan and then back to the suit. "Now, to answer your question, I will take this offering and use it to kill chaos. It not may not be made by humans but it will be good to be back in what I am most familiar with."

Grodmoor nodded. "Excellent. We're done here. It's time you met your squad."

# # # #

Thavan stood near the exit to the building he has called home ever since he woke. It has been a full week since he has seen that vision. Time has been kind to him. His recovery was a complete success.

He never asked but he did wonder why they never let him travel beyond this spacious and large structure. There were so many rooms in here he believed he would get lost were it not for Zenara's guidance.

No other skaven were within his sights. Grodmoor requested that he wait here until further notice. He was going to do just that.

Thavan imagined that when others were coming and going this would be one busy place. It was an assembly area of sorts. A desk at the main entrance worked as a means of funneling people to their destinations. Thavan pondered just how many skaven were under Grodmoor's influence? Thousands? No, there must have been more.

Beyond where he stood nestled at the middle of the assembly area were two massive steel doors. These most likely led to the outside caverns and possibly into a skaven city. How one navigated the underground made no sense to Thavan. It was nothing like the outdoors and offered him no scenery to guide him.

Thavan continued to mull over his thoughts when the doors behind him opened and 5 individuals stepped forward.

The first one lumbered through the doorway and made a beeline toward Thavan. His features, hidden behind a a suit of fully enclosed armor left much for the imagination. With each step the ground around him shook ever so slightly. If one listened closely, they may discern a distinct sloshing sound echoing from behind him. Was it some sort of fluid?

The skaven's long muzzle was completely enclosed in a gas mask-like apparatus that connected to the rest of the armor. The holes for his eyes were not transparent in nature. They were bulbous and glowed a noxious green color.

As he turned around to grip a nozzle on his back, he cranked it repeatedly. The gears emitted an audible screeching sound. Thavan winced to the noise and noted their was a backpack attached to him by bolts. It should be noted that there was a flap at the top and a small opening at the side that allowed globes to fall down into their base for access. These globes were transparent but filled with a liquid similar in color to his eyes. The color of warpstone.

It was impossible to tell if the skaven was watching him or not but it left him feeling uneasy none the less. That feeling dampened a bit as two more walked forward.

One male and one female came next. Both wore cloth wraps concealing the front of their muzzles. These wrappings dangled just below their mouths. Their heads were also concealed by tight fighting hoods with eye holes cut through the fabric for sight. A few pieces of cloth cut into long straps were wrapped around their faces and kept the rest of their disguise close to their flesh without hindering sight.

The hoods ran down the back of their necks and attached to tight fitting overcoats. The males coat had the sleeves intact. Upon the sleeves were an assortment of daggers in sheaths and other trinkets dangling from the fabric. Thavan watched in silence but felt perplexed. What was their purpose he pondered?

The females sleeves were torn off. In their place were multiple sets of cloth wraps running down to her hands. Both of the skaven's fur was as black as a raven's feathers. Their robes ran all the way down to their legs. A set of taut fitting trousers supported by a thin layer of chainmail and leather mixed in between made up their unique looks. Each of them wore a set of wraps that connected to their heal and covered the bottoms of their feet. Their toes were completely enclosed in sharp metal tips. This was clearly for digging into walls as an aid for climbing. All of their clothing was as black as their fur. Thavan knew these were the assassins.

Beyond them appeared an armored ratling gunner Thavan recognized almost immediately. That was the one that played a part in his rescue. His armor had been updated since their last encounter. This time, his helmet lay attached to his hip by some straps. His features were visible.

An under-bite revealed his bottom two incisors protruding out and in front of his top rows. His bottom left tooth was chipped. A hauberk covered his arms, chest, and neck. A moderate sized piece of plate covered his front and back. They were connected by leather fastenings along the sides.

A set of thick, spiked gauntlets covered from his elbows down. Above the elbows leading up to the shoulder-blades, the chaimail hauberk and hardened leather underneath would suffice as protection.

Out of the double doors appeared another one. This male skaven wore a set of blackened platemail armor covering him from the neck down. His chestplate, marked by the Grozen clan insignia also had one peculiar marking on it. A hand print, seemingly dipped in black ink, marked his right chest-plate.

A shield was attached to his back and strapped around the front by leather fastenings. That same black hand insignia covered the shield as well. A sword, sheathed and on his hip, rattled as he stepped forward. He stood only a few inches taller than Thavan.

Each one of them walked out and stood in formation. Side by side they all lined up and stood straight. No arch to their backs as their faces appeared posed and resolute. Then, without notice, they all turned their heads and looked directly at Thavan.

"These are your crew members, Thavan. Get acquainted with them. Come to understand their strengths and weaknesses. Through this simple sounding but arduous task, you and those before you will become something that few can match. They hail from a multitude of clans with a long and brutal history. Eshin, Skryre, Moulder, Mors, and many others from smaller clans have pledged their allegiance to Grozen. These are some of my greatest followers. And you will be working side by side with them. Now, I have spoken enough. The stage, is theirs."

Grodmoor quieted as the large armored gas mask user walked forward. "I am Ziv, a poison wind globadier at your service, Thavan Vanamar."

His voice was gruff and throaty. A partially synthesized hum echoed from his words. Possibly due in part to that gas mask Thavan surmised? The skaven took a bow and nearly toppled over onto Thavan. The humans eyebrows raised as he took one step backwards and gave himself a wide berth from the clumsy skaven. The globadier stabilized himself but not before the two assassins scoffed at his clumsiness.

"You're too fat for that armor." proclaimed the female.

"And too slow." Chimed in the male.

"I'm not fat. It's the armor." Grunted the globadier. For extra reassurance he looked down and gripped his stomach through the armor and squeezed the metallic surface.

The duo walked past Ziv and circled Thavan. "I am Teeshna." cooed the female as her nose sniffed the air and her whiskers twitched to the smell of a human.

"Your scent is unusual." She declared.

The male walked around Thavan one time. "And I am Neeshi." His raspy voice echoed from his lungs with a bit of phlegm tainting his words in a rather unpleasant wet sound.

"My sister is right. There is something about you that stands out from the others. Mayhaps it is because you are the first human I have come so close to without the intent to kill-murder?" His question left a bad taste in Thavan's mouth.

"Yesss." Purred Teeshna. "You are right I imagine. He isn't sniveling and pissing himself such as those before him."

"You like to kill humans, don't you?" Asked Thavan.

"You misinterpret!" Teeshna spoke hastily. "Our loyalty once belonged to Clan Eshin. I killed many adversaries of varying species while employed by them. Lord Grodmoor opened our minds to the possibility there is something greater-better than everything we have strove toward at our time under the banner of the Eshin clan. I, and my dear brother, are sworn to oppose all those who would ally under the star of chaos. If humans worship them, then they will die-die."

Her beady eyes stared into Thavan's. There was an ever present sign that she intended no harm by her mannerisms and words. Her brother nodded at that moment, as if to confirm Thavan's thoughts.

Thavan intended to respond but his eyes turned to a much larger skaven. The one equipped with a sword and shield. He strode on past the duo and stood level with Thavan. Any closer and their heads would butt.

"I am Sorn Right Hand of Grodmoor. These skaven, they are mine. They wish not to offend you, I have no such qualms over this matter. You are an obstacle in this path. An obstacle meant to challenge all of us. I warned Grodmoor that I had reservations concerning you. But here you stand. Grodmoor is our supreme leader and if he wills it, then his will is my duty. If I must cooperate with vermin then I will do so. But know this man of Sigmar; if I see but one moment of treachery, you will wish you died in that arena. Are we clear?" His lips peeled back as the skaven showed his teeth to Thavan.

"If I wanted you dead skaven, you'd be dead where you stand. Idle threats are empty threats." Growled an agitated Thavan.

Grodmoor observed the situation. If they were to cooperate they must work it out. For this reason, he chose not to intervene. He held no resentment or reservations toward Thavan. The human had gone through more trauma than most would ever overcome. In order to function as one unit though, Thavan and his companions must strip aside their speciest ways. At that point then there may be a chance to rectify the future. It was slim. Grodmoor knew this, but there was no other way.

"A pity." Sorn mused. "I thought you to be taller."

"I expected a more pungent aroma coming from your fur. I didn't know your species was intelligent enough to bathe." Countered Thavan.

Sorn narrowed his eyes. His whiskers flinched as he exhaled a deep breath. Thavan expected a violent backlash. This time, the unexpected would happen.

"Sorn chuckled. "It's true human. We do bathe. It's just with the blood of arrogant witch hunters you see?"

He scoffed at the man and turned away from the witch hunter. The skaven then locked eyes with Grodmoor. "What? I will comply."

Grodmoor silently nodded and looked on.

"Thavan, before you depart, I would like to have a word with you in private." His tone and inflection warned Thavan of the importance and urgency on this matter.

"I'm coming too." Said another voice.

Thavan turned to see Zenara walk past him and look to their leader.

"As you wish." Said Grodmoor.

The trio walked deeper into the building, past his throne room and up a flight of stairs. They arrived in what could only be described as a war room. Candles were sprawled across the room, decorating it in their warming and relaxing glow. The wax melted and dripped into candle holders as a hint of mint and incense permeated through the room. Thavan depicted the aroma and felt soothed by its scent. It calmed his nerves.

At the top of the room a Clan Grozen banner hung on the wall. Its imposing colors and pattern were appropriate. At the center of the room was a large stone table. Maps and paperwork were strewn across it. Cup markers from hot drinks stained some of the pages while others were covered with so much dust it looked like it had been some time since they have seen use.

The largest map at the center of the table, depicted an image of the skaven underway; a network of tunnels and highways which in turn, kept the skaven mobile in an underground environment.

As Zenara closed the door and placed the bottom of her foot against it, Grodmoor spoke, "There is no time to mince words with you, Thavan. I will refrain from holding back. Our situation is dire. We've been waging a hit and run campaign against Clan Pestilens for years now. They, along with Eshin, Moulder, and Skryre make up the 4 most powerful clans of Skavendom. They have the political clout and the bodies to make a difference in the decision making for the Under Empire. But, there is also the Council of Thirteen. Twelve of our greatest and most powerful clans sit at their respective thrones in Skavenblight. The Thirteenth seat is reserved to their god, The Great Horned Rat. The majority of these leaders are fools, hellbent on their own machinations and power fantasies to realize once this world is gone, there will be nothing left to scrape up."

Grodmoor rested his hands on the table and pointed to an area on the map. "This will make or break our fledgling clan. My scouts report that Clan Pestilens intends to make a deal with Nurgle, the chaos god of disease. There holds much significance in this finding. For you see, they claim Kritislik, Seerlord of the Grey Seers signed a secret bargain with them and he is using Clan Pestilens for his own gains. I knew Pestilens intended to strike, but not so soon. They would side with chaos, given the chance. They both revel in disease and filth. Rest in piss. But the chance that the Grey Seers are joining is unheard of. A new power play may be in the works?"

Grodmoor walked to an enclosed shelf lined with glass. He grabbed the handle and opened it. Inside were varying amounts of liquor. The skaven rummaged through until he found a bottle of amber colored whiskey with a cork at the top and grabbed two glasses.

His eyes glanced down at Thavan. Thavan nodded. Grodmoor gripped the cork with his front two incisors and ripped it off. The fluids dumped into the first shot, all the while the strong scent of liquor began to rise through the air. Grodmoor slid the glass across to Thavan. The moment he started to pour some into the spare shot, he shrugged, and then rose the bottle to his mouth and gulped the contents in a matter of seconds.

Thavan gripped his and drank the amber fluids in one swig. The hot, burning sensation plowed through his core, kicking the shit out of him.

"Goddamn. What do you put in that stuff?"

Grodmoor belched loudly and placed the bottle on the table. "Enough to null the mind but not enough to kill me."

Thavan smiled, a silly and toothy grin. "That ugh...it has been a while since I drank alcohol. The effects are...yeah."

"Thavan, the skaven wouldn't concern themselves with this matter were it not for the fact that they intend to plan this all in secret. A pact forged in trickery and deceit. If we can intercept them and steal those documents...well, the others would see this as an act of treason. Another great skaven civil war would surely erupt. Just the kind of madness I need in order to rid us of Clan Pestilens. This is but the first of many obstacles. Other parts must fall into place. Only then, might I snatch the reigns of this sinking empire. Once the skaven bow to me, we will have an army to fight the hordes of chaos. We won't stop there either. Others will join the fold. But that is talk for another time. The present is all I must concern you with."

Thavan eyed the map and the distance between said location and their own. The gap measured several hundred miles. It would be one hell of a journey that was for sure.

"Humanity has wagered their lives on chance alone many times before. We continue to persevere. We've faced insurmountable odds and yet here I stand, as do many others. If we are to survive, then I must give you the benefit of the doubt and take your words at face value. Other than these so called documents, is there anything else I must look for?"

"Indeed, there is." He said gruffly.

Zenara continued to stand behind Thavan with her arms crossed. Her features alone told anybody in attendance that something concerned her.

"Are you familiar with warpstone, Thavan?"

Grodmoor strode toward a desk with a cabinet attached to the upper part of it. He opened it and reached in, extracting an old tome and placed it on the desk.

Thavan coughed and scratched the back of his head. "Isn't that the green ore I see your kind use often?"

Grodmoor opened the book. Dust particles shot across the candlelight as he turned the pages. They danced in the dim light until he found the page and they began their slow descent to the ground below.

"Yes. You may have seen it used as a form of fire as well. There..."

"Wait." Commanded Thavan. "We are here alone, nobody else but us three. Now is the time to address some confusion that has troubled me since my arrival to your sanctuary. I understand your purpose here, Grodmoor. It all makes sense to me. What I don't understand is her."

Thavan pointed behind him with his thumb. Zenara stepped forward and walked around the table until both of them were facing the human.

"What part of this puzzle is she operating from? Not once had I seen females of your species until I encountered your clan. Either females have differing rights according to each clan...or you are hiding something from me."

Grodmoor gripped the empty bottle and put it away. He turned his head toward Thavan. "Through the use of warpstone many things have..."

He was cut short from his sentence. Zenara spoke in quick, squeaky words, "If I may? This concerns me and my mind often. I wish to speak for myself on this matter."

Grodmoor quieted and turned back toward them. As if that was her cue, she grabbed it by the reigns.

"There is a reason you have never seen a female of my species. That reason is because of warpstone. Warpstone holds many properties. From its use as a currency to the destructive nature of magic, it can and will be utilized to its fullest potential. The value is there. But, my sick brethren have found another nefarious way to conjure its power. Females such as myself are converted into fat, gelatinous creatures know as breeders. They are kept hidden away from all but the most high ranking members within each clan. The Order of The Grey Seers demanded an army that would come to rival all surface dwellers one day. Only then might they commit to their grand crusade to conquer the world and rule over all the surface species. Females like myself breed at a comparable rate to your human women. The Grey Seers could not stand that. They find females such as myself at birth and convert us."

Zenara appeared visibly shaken. Her hands trembled as she squeezed them into fists. A lone tear ran down her left cheek.

"They corrupted and altered our physiology, turned us into these sad excuses of life. They drug these females to numb the constant pain they undergo and to keep them complicit. Once they are pregnant, it only takes a few weeks and then ten, sometimes twenty babies are born to scurry toward their closest teat and gorge upon her fetid milk. There is no saving them except through death. Only then might we grant them peace."

The hardness in her face was alleviated slightly by the mistiness in her eyes. Thavan realized just how greatly this affected her mind.

"The reason you see females here is because Grodmoor has limited our use of warpstone. You've seen the other factions within my kind; they're infested with diseases and live with patches of fur while scraping at dying flesh. They are so filled with evil that it does not concern them that it is also killing them. Warpstone is dangerous. If one does not take the proper precautions when using it, then you see by the other clans what comes of them. It is because of our limited use of warpstone that ones such as Teeshna, Feefee or myself who were an anomaly are now becoming the norm. I was not born in this clan, but if I were in one of the great clans, I can assure you they would have transformed me. I am grateful I was not born like my other sisters. The irony is not lost on me when I admit that warpstone is also the key to saving this world."

Thavan stared at her, listening to every word. It was an understatement to say he was profoundly shocked by the instability within skavendom. He pondered how they had not killed themselves off yet.

"Can you elaborate?"

"I joined forces with Grodmoor for this reason. We have found a way to reverse engineer warpstone. Though it is in its infancy, one cannot deny the great strides we have achieved."

Zenara walked toward the tome on the table and flipped through the pages until she came across a page near the back. There were many diagrams and wards written in skaven characters. She pointed to a sketch of a blue crystal.

"Ex Skryre engineers have code-named it bluestone. Its purpose is yet unclear. What we have tested it on shows promise, particularly those corrupted by chaos are shone to suffer the worst fatalities when in range of this crystal. If we can stabilize the bluestone and ensure it is not a danger to the user, then we have a weapon of great possibilities. So far, our test results have been rather...volatile."

Her change of tone interested Thavan. He wanted to know more.

"Nevertheless, the outcome to this may very well be limitless. From bullets to swords, or cannons to catapults, there is a path pointing forward. One untainted by the evil that is chaos. With your permission, Lord Grodmoor, I'd like to show him the research we've achieved and grant him the transparency we promised."

"Permission granted." Uttered their leader.

"If you will, Thavan, follow me." She asked him as she turned and took her leave. He followed after her and watched as her robes swayed and danced around the motions of her body. The robes were taut and accentuated her curves. Even her large breasts pressed tightly against the fabric, something Thavan noticed all too easily.

Thavan picked up the pace and walked side by side with Zenara.

"I'm ugh...I'm coming with you when you depart tomorrow." Her voice quaked in fear. Zenara's usual tone of confidence shattered. She sounded timid and nervous.

Thavan looked at her just as she reverted her gaze from his. "Why?"

Her response was not immediate. But when it came, it was flat and right to the point. "You saw it yourself, Sorn doesn't trust you. While I do not believe he would openly harm you, I also do not believe he would go out of his way to ensure you come back alive. I will not let that happen. You are also familiar with me. Your interactions with them have been one conversation. This is not a productive means of survival when one does not know his own squad members."

She looked across the room. Her timid attitude sprouted once more. "And I think you will need the additional firepower when the battle begins. The others believe this incursion will be simple. I disagree. It is advantageous to myself and to this clans well-being that all of you survive. And yes, that means you too Thavan."

"Fair enough." He admitted. "But I think there is something you are omitting here. There is another reason you are refraining from..."

"We're here." Her statement assured him there would be no answer to his question. Come to think of it, it may be for the best he didn't know. Was he just telling himself that to feel better? Thavan couldn't answer that.

The moment she opened the large metal door, it screeched open and then his eyes and ears were barraged with an array of sights and sounds. The 'room' if one could even call it that stretched further than Grodmoor's throne room.

Large and imposing tesla coils encased in transparent glass shrieked and roared as they shot bolts of electricity at the glass. The purplish blue bolts bounced across their glass cages and then dispersed. These tesla coils ran in rows of two down the entire room. On top of each coil, floating in a suspended state were bluish green pieces of warpstone. Electrical arks clattered and crackled more violently near the warpstone and bounced off the pylons repeatedly.

Engineers clad in black and red full body suits bickered and chattered in their native skaven tongue amongst each other. Others, who had less of a hands on approach with the electrical currents wore silken robes that concealed all of their body save for their faces. Their stylish designs were beautiful as Thavan noticed the gilded patterns of skaven symbols on their clothing. They were jotting down information on their notepads or communicating with the ones in suits as they worked on generators puffing black smoke.

It reminded Thavan of the workshops where they constructed steam tanks in the Reikland far south of where he once lived. Those workshops were an industrial hell. This place was no different. One in which Thavan wasn't all too keen to enter.

"Are you concerned, Thavan?"

He neither confirmed nor denied her suspicions.

"You have nothing to fear. Lord Grodmoor has overseen the creation of this laboratory. He has made certain many times over that they follow strict protocol. We mustn't blow up our home, wouldn't you agree?"

Thavan begrudgingly walked forward. He followed her as the skaven fought and bickered among one another. Some even resorted to throwing their notebooks at each other. They were a fickle bunch.

Zenara raised her hand to the side of her mouth so others could not discern what she says. "Believe it or not, but they work better when they fight."

He raised an eyebrow but nodded.

They walked toward a skaven with a cape and full body suit of armor so thick he appeared 3 times the size of the average stormvermin. Upon his chest were many accommodations and medals.

"This is Warlock Engineer Skruuk. His Excellency. The Grand Architect of Despair and Warfare. The Esteemed Leader of Electricity. The Baron of The Doom Wheel. Grand Chancellor of Poisoned Wind."

She took a deep breath and continued, "And this, is Thavan Vanamar."

If that wasn't a kick in Vanamar's ego, then nothing would stop him as he seemed unperturbed by her wording.

The skaven twisted its head in Thavan's direction. A black visor ran over it's eyes. The opaque glass eye-holes from which it gazed at everyone were magnified by the visor. They appeared insect like. A set of finely layered cloth robes with skaven runes and symbols covered his greasy armor.

Thavan looked him over one time. "Are that many titles necessary?" He sighed and stretched.

"Of-Of course...it ittt is! This empire would fall into disarray and death were wereee it not for the contributions my engineers have graciously bestowed upon Clan Grozen. Man-thing must know his place and who he talks too! Yes-Yes!"

Skruuk and his broken Riekspiel dialect amused Thavan. On the contrary, this set Zenara off. She retrieved her staff from her robes and cracked the weapon against the top of his metal dome. "Human!" She growled.

The staff clinked against his armor. The skaven stood there. Neither breathing nor moving. Her sudden outburst bewildered the skaven. It was in his best interest to choose his next words carefully, less he instill the wrath of one angry sorceress.

"Alright." He muttered. "Fine-fine. Human, fur-less one, what may I do for you both?"

"Zenara walked forward. "I want you to show our newfound ally the proof he deserves. And that means granting him a presentation of our newest weapon. Are there any remaining test subjects?"

Skruuk fiddled with his hands after placing a long crank on the table next to a generator he was operating on. "Aye, I do. The filthy bastard's been stinkin' up my workplace since he arrived. Can we kill-slay him? Yes-yes?"

Thavan almost pictured an evil grin with long, sharp fangs dripping with saliva behind that mask. His persona oozed with the intent to kill.

Skruuk continued, "Preferably with poison wind. the device's been a tad wonky and I don't trust-believe it will operate as per natural parameters."

"We fund you. We saved your from your masters when you dabbled in technology not approved by them. You will do it. And that means now." Zenara's stern retort smacked him across his metal face. And with good reason. She was second only to Lord Grodmoor. Her words held much weight under the growing empire that was Clan Grozen.

The skaven raised his hand. "Alright, fine. Just don't shoot-stab the messenger when the device explodes. I will not be held accountable! Not my fur!" His saliva laced words were wet and crunchy sounding. Was he eating something behind that mask?

Thavan and Zenara were led through the workshop until they arrived at a bunch of labs with heavily armored and armed security. Some eyed Thavan suspiciously but allowed him entry. Behind clear glass walls Thavan watched skaven tinkering and working on warpstone. The deeper within the labs he entered, the more guards there were.

Skruuk led them to an area closed off from the rest. The moment they entered Thavan discerned a rancid scent in the air. Something was rotten. Was it organs or flesh? Whatever it was, it stunk like hell. He proceeded to breathe out of his mouth as he looked at the room they entered.

One large room separated by a wall and a one way glass window allowed one to look into the other side. It appeared to be a holding cell. Thavan swallowed rising saliva. If this scent wouldn't air out soon, he'd be seeing his lunch once more. On the side he was standing within, there were a few chairs and tables with paperwork strewn throughout.

On the other side of the room stood a man consumed by chaos. He raved in madness and clawed at the chains restraining him to the spot he stood at. He cried out through cracked bloody lips. His bloodshot eyes screamed of insanity. There was no saving him and Thavan knew this. The image of that man strapped to the chains reminded him of himself and how he too was once a captive.

Thavan took his eyes off the man and noticed a weapon aimed at him just below his waste. Tubes and all manner of bizarre gadgetry were attached to it. It was far too large for any regular sized person to carry.

"This device is a makeshift warpfire thrower. When we begin I will pull-yank the lever in here. The weapon will activate and this piece of trash-filth will burn. We're gonna need more chaos soldiers though." Grumbled Skruuk.

"That will be taken care of. Pull the lever. Let this begin." Commanded Zenara.

Skruuk eased his hand on the lever. The flamethrower began its gradual process to life, groaning in its mechanical life. Metal on metal grinding together echoed in Thavan's ears until a horrible whining hiss came next. Crackling electricity and sparks shot all around the weapon until it suddenly quieted and then a volley of blue flames erupted from the spout and immolated the chaos soldier.

His scream, oh God his scream! It rang through Thavan's ears as if he himself were there in those chains and experiencing that torment all over again. Thavan shook while he listened to the man's ear piercing shrieks. The unholy wails of his trembling body and blue flames mirrored off of Thavan's grey, moist eyes.

The chaos man's eyes bulged from their sockets and the veins in his neck tightened. In rapid succession they instantly burst like mini explosives and ripped the outer layer of flesh open from within. The clear glass walls splattered with a healthy dose of blood.

Thavan watched his body flail against the restraints. His eyes continued to expand out of the front of his head until they exploded and splattered fluids onto the wall, mixing with the blood.

Thavan realized the flames were not burning the victim as they naturally would. The way the flames devoured his bubbling flesh and disintegrated the boils made it feel like he was watching a disease systemically being wiped out by its host. Whether that was a byproduct of this weapons testing phase remains to be seen.

Unable to scream no longer the being gurgled and choked on something. The trio watched as a large object swam up the length of his neck. The torn flesh, unable to handle the pressure of the foreign object, ripped open. His intestines and their lining rose up through his split throat and out of the dead man's mouth. The lining tore open on his teeth. Intestines ripped through his mouth, dangling from his lips.

The flames burned the chains away. The body toppled over and crashed onto its restraints. It twitched and writhed in rapid intervals as Thavan turned to Zenara.

"I've seen enough. I will see to it that this weapon sees the light of day. I am headed to the armory. I must familiarize myself with my own weapons once more. It has been some time since I felt the heft of a firearm or the arching swing of a sword. Warfare is nigh and I must prepare. Until then, I'll see you tomorrow upon our departure."

* * *

 **Hey! I have been enjoying these reviews. For those of who that have followed and or favorited the story but have not left a review yet, I'd kindly appreciate it if you would. I collate this data to better myself. So if there is anything you have to say I would love to hear it.**

 **Furthermore, I may be creating a discord server to rally any of my readers together into one hub. If that happens I may end up sending anybody that favorited me as an author an invite. It will be easier to communicate with my readers that way.**

 **Been playing a lot of the Resident Evil 2 Remake lately. That game is fantastic but really struggles to render high frames on my computer. My 1070 should be just fine but who knows. If you love the originals give it a shot. I love that the RE series has returned to horror.**

 **Anywho that is all the time I have to blab. The next chapter is going to be a big one.**


	5. Chapter 4

Of Atonement And Salvation: The End Times

Chapter 4

Pact Of Rot And Deceit

Written by S. J. Kandil

( Thavan Vanamar / Location – Skaven Underway / Time – 02/16/2519)

There I was, seated in some bizarre multi treaded skaven vehicle in the bowels of the planets core. My allies were none other than the furry faced skaven themselves. This was confounding. My thoughts on this subject and my allegiance to a species I originally intended to kill was paradoxical in many respects. And yet, I was still here.

In some respects I am truly perplexed by all that has unfolded. Due to the nature of how this came to be, I never gave myself time to ponder upon this journey I have chosen. Perhaps it is for the best? I do not have an answer for that.

I have watched this species for four years. The skaven are naturally a rather double-dealing species. If their fur was in question, it was within their best interest to come out unscathed. And whoever got in their way then Sigmar help them for there would be no relent.

These skaven, particularly Zenara, have shown an intense desire to ensure my worries are swept free. It has uplifted my spirits and made these days bearable. Though I dare not tell them this truth.

I still ask myself is this nothing more than a game to keep me in check until my uses are exhausted? And in some weird way, I doubt that. They went above and beyond their duty to ensure I was plucked from Clan Vanmeek's grasp. They have the firepower but their numbers are sparse. Going to war against another skaven clan seems counter-intuitive unless the reason was justifiable. Am I that reason? Or was the warpstone that Feefee mentioned the true reason behind their mission?

"Are you alright?"

Huh? A highly synthesized voice called out to me. As I looked around I saw Ziv sitting across and two seats down staring squarely at me.

"What do you mean?" I asked honestly.

"Your hands-paws, they haven't stopped shaking for well over ten minutes. Are you fine-well, Thavan?"

Ziv cocked his head sideways in an attempt to show concern. At least that is what it looked like. It was hard enough to tell behind that mask.

"I'm fine. It's just nerves."

Even as I looked down and saw with my own two eyes the strength of the shaking, I could not stop it. It wasn't until I placed my hand on top of the other and focused on the problem at hand, did the shaking finally cease.

"He's simply a coward. The torture has worn him down. He fears death."

Another voice, this time it was Sorn, sat furthest from me at the opposite end of the vessel we traveled within. Sorn popped his knuckles as his eyes stared at mine.

"Isn't that right, Thavan? Once when you see an opportunity to scamper-skurry you'll cut and run. Or perhaps..." A horrible grin stretched wide, revealing a maw of yellowish teeth. "...He'll kill one of us when our backs are exposed to the no fur."

Before I was able to come to my own defense, Teeshna spoke, "He is no coward. Nor will he betray us. No no. I have seen my fair share of no furs. He reeks of death, yes. Fear, no. Apprehension, perhaps? But no betrayal in his scent. One must recall where he has been and what he has seen these past years. He is lucky-fortunate that his mind is stable after what he has endured."

Neeshi sat forward and nodded. "Sister-kin is right. Judging him before combat is unlike you. Do you fear-worry that he might best you? Yes-yes!"

Sorn rolled his eyes and growled. His aggression now pointed to the fledgling assassin. "I fear no human. None have ever come close to besting me. You Eshin spine-stabbers have much in common with the humans. You're a night runner Neeshi, a fledgling with inexperience tainting your core. Your sister has achieved far more than yourself. Now shut your muzzle or I will shut it for you Eshin pup."

Teeshna stood and cracked her tail against her seat. She clenched her paws and squeezed tightly on the leather handle of a blade in her sheath. It creaked and groaned against her steely grip.

"Hold your tongue concerning my younger brother! I thought a Clan Mors reject would be more thick furred than you. How long did you nurse from the teat before you were weaned, milk drinker? Hmmm?"

Sorn stood and watched Teeshna's hand. "Watch yourself spine-stabber. You best sit down now-now before you hurt-injure yourself. Or things are going to get very bloody."

"Or what!" Growled Teeshna in the darkest recesses of her throat.

My eyes found their way over to Ziv who was caught up in the middle of this. It was quite clear this escalating situation disturbed him as his head rocked back and forth and he twiddled his fingers together. Watching this brute of a skaven shake like a child being scolded would have been humorous were it not for the tension in the room.

"If I wanted too, you'd be dead before you reached for your sword. One well placed dagger thrown with the proper arc and trajectory would pass between the opening in your armor and sever an artery in your neck. You'd bleed out in ohhhh..." She tapped her fingers together counting in her head. "...seconds."

Sorn considered his options. None were too pleasant. Zenara burst into the room before it would degrade any further.

"What is the meaning of this? Petty clan squabbles do not contain the chaos! Do you believe they care? Those bastards are setting aside their differences while we struggle internally. Funnel your anger into them lest we all go to an early grave!"

The two instigators quieted at her outburst but she wasn't finished. "If you wish to place your concern and anger toward the human then fine. That is your decision Sorn. We'll find out for better or worse where Thavan's allegiance lies by the end of this mission. Lord Grodmoor entrusts us with Thavan Vanamar's care. If you do not trust him and or his decision to have Thavan here, then that will be taken up on your time with Grodmoor, alone. Request a transfer to a different squad if you cannot bear to look in the eyes of a human that has cast aside his differences to aid us. You will not harm this allegiance." Zenara held her staff in one hand while the other remained clenched tightly into a fist. Some of her locks of long flowing hair were braided at the tips.

This was an awkward situation for me. To hear them speak so openly about our situation is a deeper problem than I surmised. My thoughts were so focused on my own transgressions with the skaven that it never occurred to me there were others who troubled themselves over me as much as I them. I must tread carefully from here on out lest the balance tip. These were dangerous times. Our victory over the chaos is all that mattered.

Once they quieted, Zenara focused on the mission at hand. "Teeshna, Neeshi, change of plans. Our scouts have reported the meeting will be held at the grand intersection of the old underpass. We're going to be cutting this short. I'll need you two to take the warplock-jezzail up the broken cliffs and perform sniper duties once again. When the battle begins we need your expertise. You two have five shots so make them count where they are most necessary. The scouts claimed they heard the sounds of a monstrous beast within their vehicles. Exaggeration or truth? You be the judge."

She paused and then looked to Sorn. "You, Ziv, and Varron will lead the push. I need you to ensure Varron has a proper opening. Demoralize and kill. You must keep the pressure off of us and the aggression pointed squarely at you three. The body count will stack if you two can cover Varron. Setting up along the intersection while using the rubble as a barricade is something to consider. The decision of course, will be up to you, Sorn."

Her inflection and tone resembled that of one who was born to lead. Even though she was no human I could feel the inspiration in her voice. When she spoke, others listened, and so did I.

Sorn growled while popping his neck. He looked back to me once again. "And what of him?"

Zenara looked into my eyes. "He's coming with me. The plague priest will be sure to scatter when he realizes an ambush has commenced. I'll need Thavan's help in case I am outnumbered."

A loud screeching echoed from the outside as the treads came to a sudden and dead halt. Varron punched on the wall separating us from the drivers seat.

Zenara walked to the door and turned to face us. "It is time. We walk from here on out."

# # # #

(Thavan Vanamar / Location – Skaven Underway / Time – 02/16/2519)

My eyes glanced to the vehicle we were once seated within. The skaven engineers called this particular model a Death Treader. Their naming schemes were certainly unconventional if a little too exaggerated for my tastes. I wasn't entirely fond of it. It didn't appear all that stable either. This thing was loud and looked about as graceful as a dwarf drunk on too much ale crashing through a shop filled with glass trinkets.

It had a slanted roof with metallic plates. Apparently this was an intentional design. It protected the vehicle from most forms of small arms fire. The rounds would ricochet off instead of embedding into the vehicle. On each corner were large metallic spikes. For intimidation I presumed.

In the rear, protected by armor, was a large engine that puffed out black smoke. Green veins of energy pumped through tubes and ran directly into the engine. This vehicle was powered by warpstone. And by warpstone it was capable of operating at speeds unlike anything back home.

On the left and right side of the vehicle were large treads. They gripped the rocky ground and propelled the vehicle onward. It was not entirely dissimilar to a steam tank but much, much faster.

There was a side hatch that allowed entry. It was raised several feet off the ground. This is the reason why they had a handle and a built in step to aid one in climbing into it.

We had parked the vehicle underneath the underway. It was concealed by rubble and boulders straight from the cavern itself. Nobody would take notice for we would be some distance away from the vehicle when the combat begins.

Teeshna and Neeshi left the pack with their weapon in tow. It was a rather large and long rifle carried by both of them. They called it a jezzail. These weapons were meant for long range and packed extra stopping power. I preferred something short and compact myself.

As the duo hefted the weapon, I called out to them before they were out of earshot, "Teeshna, Neeshi, I wanna tell you something."

Both stopped and turned to face me with their obscured faces covered in cloth wraps.

"Thank you for earlier. It wasn't necessary but it is appreciated. Be safe and let us all get through this together." I nodded to the both of them.

They followed suit and then continued on their way.

I failed the last group under my command. I will not fail them. Whether their kind have been enemies or not, some of these skaven are different. Even I am beginning to see that now.

Zenara caught up with me while Sorn, Varron, and Ziv all got into their respective positions.

"Making nice with your squad members are you?"

I looked over to her. From the way her hair swayed to the batting of her eyelashes, there was an unusual mystique to her. I watched her lips pull back into a soft and entrancing smile. Whatever it was about her, it lured me in. Feeling attraction for another species was wrong and I knew it. How would Darik Goddennine look at me now? Does it even matter? Just as Grodmoor stated, in the eyes of humanity I am a ghost.

Her raised eyebrow reminded me there was a question in need of an answer. "When others stand up for you, whether that be directly or indirectly is moot. It is a reassuring feeling to see they have my back. As a team it is imperative that each and every soldier trusts each other. This almost reminds me of my days with Hadran before I was a witch hunter captain. Well, there was less fur back then."

I laughed then smiled. The thought of the past and the mentioning of it lit something within me. It was comforting.

Zenara beamed. "I've never seen you smile, Thavan. I didn't know you could." She proclaimed.

"As you reflect upon your days as a witch hunter I see a spark in your eyes. This subject is the one thing I can tell you have genuine interest toward. Would you tell me about it?"

I nodded. "It is what I lived for. Bringing order and stability to a chaotic world is what kept me going. Many higher ups within my sect of the Cult of Sigmar did not see eye to eye with me or my sudden push through the ranks. I was notorious through the imperial state of Ostland, my home state. And let us not forget Ostermark to the northeast of Ostland and Stirland to the far east. I performed many assassinations on vampires inhabiting our lands in those states. They posed as our own people and were tough to discern the living from the dead. I've come close to death on many occasions when the fangs of a vampire nearly tore through my jugular."

I sighed and took a deep breath then continued, "This notoriety was a boon and a curse. Those above me branded me in colors unlike those of my city to differentiate me from the others. They spoke of hushed rumors to defame me in front of my peers and subordinates. Many tried everything feasibly possible to set me on a path of failure. No matter how hard those trials and tribulations were, I would not change it for the world. I was born for this service. And I will die by it."

I zoned off in thought with glazed eyes. My mind lost in a multitude of past journeys. One in particular stood out among the rest.

"Zenara can you promise me something?"

She turned and faced me. Our movement halted. "What is it?" She asked.

"Those who served Clan Vanmeek, are they truly dead? Did your clan wipe them out? All of them?"

She looked at me rather plainly and confused. "If you didn't believe my words the first time, what makes you believe the second will offer any consolation?"

She began walking again but I stopped her in her tracks when I said, "Reassurance. I cannot die knowing they are still out there. It haunts me. I still have nightmares from my days of torture and abuse. I want it to stop. I want to feel normal again but the shadow of death clings to me. I secretly crave death and these feelings, they are not mine. I want them to end."

Her eyes widened partially. "Thavan, stop right there. I am sorry. Sometimes I let my own mouth speak before my mind. I can assure you that we killed them all. You saw with your own eyes how Tweeve was assassinated with a well placed shot to the head. That was performed by Teeshna herself. I promise you that not one of them made it. I meant what I said when I told you I wouldn't let them hurt you anymore."

A twinkling light in her eyes told me the truth that she spoke. Her tender words eased my troubled mind. I believed her. It was time to shed that guilt from myself.

With that concluded she continued onward with myself in tow. "But, Thavan, concerning the topic of death, I do not think you should speak so lightly about it."

"And why is that?" I questioned her.

Her ears flinched. "Because, there are those who want to see you live."

I said nothing in response and instead, followed her along a torn out section of the highway that would conceal us easily enough. Her tail swooshed left to right. Its slow, methodical motions were hypnotizing to watch.

We continued on for some time up the great underway and even higher beyond that. Before long, we were several hundred meters away from the others. Zenara chose stealth above all else. The moment of surprise must remain in our hands. We would strike first.

These highways stretched on for miles. Zenara informed me on the ride to our destination that they even pass under the great ocean into the new world. No wonder the skaven could be everywhere at any moment or time. The highways looped through great chasms across treacherous passes and into tight spaces where the height from the rocky ground to the highway's path was level with one another. If one fell off the edge in certain parts it would be ones end. From this part of the underway, you may break a leg.

Having roads such as these allowed a quick means of traversing the world. Being underground also negated the affects of weather entirely. The temperature year round was a pleasant and cool experience. But there were other harsh forces at work here. If a tunnel was out of commission due to a cave in, then days of travel may be lost.

This didn't change the fact I missed the sunlight. An unsightly palor has afflicted my skin ever since I have departed the warm rays of the sun. What I wouldn't give to see it once more. My skin is but a few shades darker than freshly fallen snow on a hemlock in Ostland.

Zenara and I made our way up to a small alcove overlooking the grand intersection. A large piece of rock jutted out from above us and sheltered the alcove. Some debris and pieces of ash lay scattered in a circular pattern on the alcove. Somebody had clearly spent the night here and was burning some logs. There's a story here, one I'll never learn.

Zenara sat down and leaned into a large stone for support. She yawned and stretched.

"Do we have an idea on the amount of enemies we will face today?" I asked her as I too sat down and across from her.

"Negative. I've heard differing reports. When based on speculation it is all arbitrary. They very well might outnumber us 10 to 1. With so many of our clan members on multiple missions or tending to their wounds, you and the others are all we have. This mission must be a success. That plague priest cannot be allowed to escape."

The seriousness in her tone forced me to pause. "And if we do fail? How far will this set us back?"

The rising taste of acid flooded the back of my throat. I gulped it down and cringed at the awful flavor.

Zenara toyed with her staff. The pause before her words and the look in her eyes granted enough understanding to see where this was going.

"What I am about to reveal to you must remain between us. Not even the other members of this pack know of the importance this mission means for this clan and all of its people. Should we fail, the implications behind those words stand on boundless territory. Clan Grozen would undoubtedly collapse. Its people slaughtered and forgotten by the hordes of Pestilen's. If all goes to plan, we will see the start of another skaven civil war. This war will come to a close as soon as it begins should all the pieces fall into place. Our fate may not be immediate. But the firmament upon which we stand will fall out from under us if this mission is botched. Rest assured in knowing there will be nothing left if the conclusion is unsatisfactory."

She gripped her staff tighter. Her hand shook.

"And you felt it best not to disclose this information to the others for what? The fear of it preying on their minds outweighs what we are up against?"

"That was not my call." Stated Zenara. "Lord Grodmoor insisted we remain tight lipped on this situation. The fear of mutiny is prevalent. There are skaven from all manner of other clans burgeoning our ranks. If we are incapable of proving our worth, then we will be trampled by the wayside from our own people. Your disdain for my species made it rather easy to admit this harsh truth. And, there is good reason behind that fury. We deserve it all." Her final words were tinged with pain. She held back so much.

Zenara turned from me. Her words hurt more than they should have. But if her clan loses, humanity will go down with them. She needs reassurance. Everybody falls back on her. But who does she have?

"Zenara, hey, listen to me please." My words were soft and gentle. It got her attention.

"We're gonna make it through this and your people will live to see another day. This world and this conflict is greater than my harbored resentment. I promise you we will grasp victory today. I will perform everything within my power to ensure this is a success. Humanity lives upon the victories of this secret conflict. We are the last line. We will not fail."

Her ears twitched. The formation of a smile peeked out from the corner of her lips. Her tail picked up some speed. It swished back and forth behind her. "It's alright Thavan. I thank you for the words of encouragement. In times like these my emotions overwhelm my mind. I feel better now. If I may, I'd like to point something out; You appear calm and resolute against everything you have faced. Your acclimatization to us came sooner than expected. You adapt well to your surroundings. This is all shocking to me. Grodmoor feared your mind state would be corrupted from the endless pain you endured. I believe you have succeeded and proven above all else that nobody on this planet will stop you. It's impressive and inspiring."

Hearing her speak so highly of me was unexpected. I didn't know how to take such praise. And so, I took the opportunity to ask her something that has puzzled me. "Why are your eyes different from the other skaven. I've never seen one with blue before. Does it alter when one dabbles in magic?"

She laughed to my clear ignorance on the topic. "No, that is not the reasoning behind this." She pointed her finger to her eye.

"My eyes used to be as blood red as the fluids in your veins. I came across a monolith buried beneath the rock, deep within the bowels of this planet. Many years ago it once stood on the surface of this planet. I believe an earthquake swallowed it up and left it in its underground tomb for some unspecified amount of time. I hunted for this monolith based upon rumors and stories from dwarfs and skaven. This alone was not enough for me to be fully committed. That is, until I found elven books detailing this phenomenon. Somebody or something wanted this thing to be forgotten and I intended to find out why. Most known accounts of the monolith were burned and or forgotten."

My back and leg were killing me. These jagged rocks were not helping. I scooted over onto a smooth piece of rock and got more comfortable. She had my attention. I wanted to learn more. "These stories, you didn't worry that it was nothing more than some fantastical myth grown from years of urban legends and drunken tales in inns?"

She too situated herself in a more comfortable position and wrapped her tail around herself. "I did not. And it was due to the elves. The books I found were not held in high regard but this thing foretold of something. I knew the winds of war were on the horizon but from what, I could not say. I had to confirm my suspicions. I spent years in search of this lost relic, traveling across the entire known world. I've seen Cathay and their long ornamental columns holding up their massive structures supporting slanted roofs that were multi layered and held by wooden brackets. The finest coats of paint colored their beautiful structures. Their people were of shorter stature than your men and women with lithe bodies and almond shaped eyes and hair as black as your own. They spoke a language unlike anything you and I have ever heard, but my journey had not stopped there. Not even the Southlands evaded my gaze. A land rich in biodiversity and death. A hot place teeming with wildlife unlike anything you have ever seen. Dinosaurs roam those lands. They're giant lizard creatures with maws of teeth able to disembowel you with one swipe of their claws. The intelligent people of those lands were the lizardmen. An ancient species of beings who stand upright just like you and I. Their appearance stemmed not to far off from the dinosaurs they rode upon. I have seen this world and most of what it has to offer. Toward the end of my journey I became bitter. Where was this monument I sought? What was I doing with my life?"

As she took a moment to breathe and pull out a canteen of water that gave me the moment to stop her.

"Years you say? You traveled across this planet and yet you look so young? How old are you, Zenara?"

She finished her drink, reattached the lid and placed it back on her hip. "I am 44 years old. I was born in the year 2475. I can see the shock in your eyes. Youth is fleeting but the grasp of old age has not touched me. It is magic. Magic has lengthened my years beyond the mortals of this world. I have tapped into powers stronger than what the most powerful scholars and sorcerers utilize. I will not be limited by mortality."  
Well that completely threw my theory out the window. "I thought you were my age. I'm 24. I was born in 2495. I can't believe we are 20 years apart. I wish I could look that young and healthy at that age."

Her eyes stared right into mine. "Then you will be overjoyed to know that a part of me, including my youth is within you."

"...What?"

"Before you try to attack me as you have done before, hear me out. Thavan, your heart stopped when we brought you back to the Grozen stronghold. There was no time to react. I had to make a decision. I chose to save your life. I linked myself to you and pumped your body full of magic. It saved your life and elongated it in the process. It was a struggle though. Chaos magic thrives deep within your core and it resisted for some unknown reason. I spent hours fighting to save you. As you can see, it was a success."

I stretched my hands outward and looked at them. With one pull I yanked off the gloves and observed at the flesh. Zenara expected a backlash but I offered nothing like that. "Why?" I asked. "Why do I matter so much?"

Zenara's entire body trembled. She quaked to my question. "Ple...please Thavan, I promise you one day I will tell you...I mean that, but let me say on my time. I beg of you."

This isn't the first time she has responded defensively when it concerns me. I will drop the topic for both of our sake's. At some point I do need to know what she is hiding from me.

"Fine. Please continue."

She eased downward and calmed herself and her nerves. "Where was I? Oh yes, the monument. I sensed an immense pulse not far off the coast of the southern chaos wastes. I made my way through the underground pathways until I came to an island a few miles from the coastline of the southern chaos realm. A battle happened here a long time ago. Time heals everything but the land does not forgot the scars left behind. I saw the damage done to that island. I traced the damage underground until I came across a vast chasm surrounding an island of rock. Black, murky fluids swirled around the island. At the center I saw it: an obelisk of immense stature looming over the chasm as that of a lone sentinel standing with vigilance. It pulsed with a faint energy. It was dying. In my haste, I made contact with the object without concern for myself. I believed I had found it and I did. But as I surged forward a wave of energy gripped me and suspended myself into the air. I was powerless as more energy erupted from the monolith and burned through my eyes. A searing white light blinded me as I was taken from this world and saw a vision of our future. A vision of a chaos victory and the destruction of our known world. When I came too, the obelisk was destroyed and my eyes were tainted by its power. I will carry the weight of the end of days with me until my dying breath. I came to learn how to control this vision and visualize this for others. Only you, and Grodmoor have seen it. I cannot bear to show it any longer. It has strained my body and mind. I fear if I were to reveal it but once more my mind would go for a walk and never return."

"And yet again you have risked so much for me. The risks involved with showing me that vision were detrimental to your health but you soldiered on. I don't think I have ever said this to you before but thank you. Nobody, not even my own kind have risked so much for me. I have no love for your species but I can see what you have done for me. Zenara...I want you to know that and..."

The situation may have gone different but the bleating shrill scream of a horn in the distance stopped us from going further. The forces of chaos were near. The time for conversation had ended.

The recounting of training and combat flashed across my mind. It has been many years since I had experienced a gap in fighting. It was time to put all these years of combat to the test.

They were making their entrance by the eastern approach. My left flank. The skaven were already in view, arriving from the northern pass.

As the chaos grew closer, their means of transportation became visible. Their vehicle was dragged by 40 or more horses with one in the lead. A taskmaster stood at the top of the vehicle, slashing a whip to goad the horses forward.

Their massive chariot stood at an immense height with oblong sides. Jagged, sharpened edges covered the outer parts of the chariot. Large spikes jutted out from the sides with human skulls attached to them. The symbol of Nurgle cast out of iron and covered with human flesh crested the top of the vehicle. Three circles formed a triangle of sorts, beneath them were three pointed pieces of metal encased in blood and gore and holding the circles in place. A helm with horns depicting the usual gear of Norscan filth rested just above the circles. The leader of this clan, perhaps?

One thing was certain though, The height and size alone guaranteed a small army of foul beings lurking behind those iron doors.

I glanced down at the wheels and noticed some were spinning as they should but others were stuck, either filled with foul gunk or broken beyond repair. Come to think of it, the entire vehicle itself was ready to collapse at any moment. The chaos bastards knew nothing of quality and cared not for efficiency

Even their horses were sickly in nature. A greenish glow emanated from their putrid flesh. Empty eye sockets nested hordes of maggots. As I sat here and watched it unfold, my blood boiled. They were a pestilence on this planet. Death is all they deserved. I would have lamented them further but another sight caught my eye. The skaven had arrived.

A skaven war machine strode down the underway. It was so massive in stature that four other vehicles straddling the four corners of it dragged the vehicle forward. They resembled large wheels as they spun and pulled the massive one forward. These must be doomwheels that the Grozen clan members have mentioned.

Each time they performed one rotation a glowing green engine in the back belched out smoke and squealed for maintenance. Just as shitty as chaos tech. They were made for each other.

Both vehicles stopped. A separation of a couple hundred feet or so divided the two. It looked like a standoff, and frankly, I wouldn't trouble myself in the slightest if they offed themselves. Saves me the trouble of doing it myself.

This went on for sometime until I finally called out to Zenara, "What are they doing?" I questioned while peeking over the ledge.

Her tail twitched and and then straightened. "I...I'm not sure. There is a cause for alarm we must take into consideration, Thavan. Those vehicles are much larger than my scouts predicted. The others may have been a diversion to throw us off. That skaven vehicle alone is double the size of ours."

Zenara ground her front incisors together rapidly. They clicked and dragged against each other. A sign I read into as intense stress.

"The ratio is pointing 10 to 1, maybe more. The odds are grossly and disproportionately in their favor. Our outcome is uncertain."

The voice of reason to be was me. It was denied as the gears came to a shrieking halt and both sides departed from their respective vehicles and I realized how right she was.

A detachment of skaven clad in filthy robes that covered them from head to toe followed after their master. Several layers of this cloth-like material was draped around the foul skaven in command of this operation. The plague priest himself had a necklace with a bell attached to the end around his neck. Another bell hung by the tip of his tail and jingled as he walked. Upon his chest their was the skaven triangle etched into his robes.

He carried a massive two handed plague censer. A weapon with an appearance reminiscing that of a flail with spikes and all but double the size and with a hollow core. Within that hollow core glowed a foul green light. Zenara warned me about these things. They emit a nasty incense into the air that can form blisters over skin and cause your flesh to rot. It is created by the disgusting diseases and rancid contagions they dump over the warpstone before it is encased in the censer.

As he strode on forward in his pompous strutt, the others behind him followed in tow. Some of the more prominent members had bells dangling from their necks. The lower tier ranks wore no bells. Even further beyond them a flag bearer appeared. The triangle engraved on their flag was a sickly green and lacked the skull that Clan Grozen utilized. In its stead was a skaven skull partially putrefied and covered in sores.

On the opposing side appeared a massive muscle bound behemoth of a man standing well over seven feet tall and grasping a bulky serrated sword. On his back, tethered by straps, was a great shield. A heavy layer of mail and an even thicker layer of chaos plate would support him from all but the deadliest of attacks.

A great helm sat atop his head. Two pointed horns carved from animal bones jutted out and upward from the helm. A spike was embedded into the center of the helm, betwixt the two horns.

As he stepped toward the skaven troops, the ground shook as his plated boots crunched across the rocky highway. Behind him, scores of soldiers, some armored and some not, followed after their leader.

A horrible odorous smell wafted through the air. A mixture that was so repugnant and unnatural I was forced to proceed only by breathing through my mouth. Vomit, rotten corpses, spoiled milk, and any other manner of myriad scents all mixed into one assaulted my sense of smell. Were these two factions not of the same clan? They both reeked.

The skaven stepped forward. "I-me here to establish treaty-bargain on behalf of Arch-Plaguelord Nurglitch for Clan Pestilens. As you may know-realize in exchange for allying with Lord Nurgle Chaos God of Disease and Decay you in turn will kill-murder for us when we take skavendom for ourselves. It is foretold. Yes-yes."

From his hand he reached into his robes and pulled out a detailed piece of parchment crafted from human skin. The Pestilens clan seal and Nurglitch's signature was signed boldly upon the paper.

The chaos champion looked it over and appeared disinterested as he shrugged. A deep and throaty gurgle echoed from his lungs as he spoke, "You have no bargaining power over me, Harveen Spinesplitter. Your entire species is one conniving lot of assassins and liars. My masters have already confirmed your offer, rat. Do not treat with me like the men of the south. I'll sign your goddamned paper. But know this, should your kind betray us, Clan Pestilens will cease to exist...yes...yes."

He spit out a black glob of fluid through a hole in his helmet. The champion mocked the skaven for his use of repeating words and yet the skaven just stood their, idle and in fear of meddling his leaders wishes.

The skaven appeared even further frazzled as the bell on his tail whipped back and forth in a frenzy. "Yes-yes...err...yes Harveen Spinesplitter most masterful of chaos masters. Sign the piece and we will be on our way."

Zenara immediately looked at me. "This is it. Once it is signed, be ready. We're going in." I nodded and looked back downward at one perplexing if not amusing scene.

The chaos champion stood hunched over signing the parchment on a piece of concrete. The skaven stood nearby and eyed the champion fearfully.

"Sign here, there, oh and there too." He squeaked.

Zenara raised two fingers and pointed to Neeshi and Teeshna, then directly at the plague priest.

"And here too." The priest said as he flipped the parchment over.

"The chaos champion bent forward but could not angle himself properly to sign the final piece. Suddenly, and without prior notice, Harveen became irate. "The goddamned armor makes it a burden to bend!"

He kept re-angling himself but to no avail, he could not bend properly enough to sign the deed. And that was when he broke the quill. His grip is too strong for the delicate device. The skaven handed him another and he broke that one too.

The plague priest extracted another one from his robes and raised his hand. "If I may..."

Harveen drove his sword into the rocky table nearly hilt deep and then pointed his finger at the plague priest. "One more word from you and I'll rip your spine from your back and skull-fuck you to death with it!" The champion gurgled on more black fluid as it spewed from his mouth and down his chin.

After a few more tense moments passed by, Harveen finished. Zenara's eyes locked with Teeshna's. Across the rubble, high up on an alcove, one might distill their presence. Although I knew where they were, it was still a challenge to spot them.

Zenara raised her hand with two fingers pointed to the sky. She curved them downward and pointed directly in the vicinity of the plague priest. That was it. Not even a second went by when the report of the jezzail echoed through the underway. The crack of the rifle startled myself.

The bullet's set path and trajectory guaranteed an easy kill. As the smoke settled my eyes caught wind of the unbelievable. There was no blood. No death. Harveen caught the round between two of his fingers.

His head turned to the quivering skaven. "Once you clean your soiled britches, I suggest you greet your newfound friends. About time too, I've been aching for combat."

"Open fire!" Screaned Sorn from a distance. Three skaven heads revealed themselves through the rubble. The battle had begun.

Varron cranked the gatling gun. A barrage of suppressing fire unleashed itself across the underway. The first row of skaven were massacred. With no form of armor, flesh ripped apart as blood and gore danced across the battlefield in the bloody waltz that is war.

One skaven's puny attempt in a counterattack failed abruptly. He raised his ancient musket and fired, naturally missing. In return, another volley of bullets surged forward, splitting his arm from the bone in a shower of blood. The mangled appendage hung loosely by strands of decimated flesh until they split apart and fell, and so too did the skaven.

A momentary pause ensued as Varron needed to reload another belt of ammo. The chaos champion charged forward as the arm-less skaven on the ground screamed. His boot came down and flattened his head like that of a pancake. Blood and brain matter congealed underneath his foot. The body twitched and spasmed to the last synapses firing off within its brain.

"Sons of Nurgle, I command thee to kill! Set loose the bile troll! Overwhelm them with disease and ruin!"

The men scrambled forward, screaming in violent glee, abiding by their masters command. A globe flew over the front-line soldiers and crashed into the middle of them. These vile fumes spread like toxic gas across the front-line. The opponents in front and center faced the brunt of the attack. Their skin molted and shredded off by the toxic compound. Blood leaked from their eyes, ears and mouth. They screamed through blood-filled lungs as the noxious gas took the lives of many within its wrath.

Zenara watched as the skaven retreated. "We need to move. Now!" She leaped over the rubble and rushed in a breakneck pace down the cliff. In her right hand she held her staff. Zenara reached into her robes and pulled a concealable musket from her many pouches.

The plague priest made an attempt to escape before the fighting truly began. Two plague censer bearers followed after him. The others defended their leader from the carnage.

Just as I vaulted over the rocks, Zenara fired a round from her musket. The ball struck true. The upper part of the censer bearers forehead caved inward. Fractured bits of bone interspersed with bloody brain matter splattered onto the vehicle. The skaven fell backwards and conked its head against the metallic side. It slid downward leaving behind a trail of blood and gore.

Zenara discarded her musket. She then channeled the winds of magic through her staff and blasted a volley of energy at the priest and his bodyguard. It came upon them in a violent gust of wind. The plague priest was a swift and sly individual. He'd gone through many years without so much as a scratch. He scampered forth, away from the blast and came out entirely unscathed. His ally could not say the same.

The wind cracked so hard against his flesh, the force alone was enough to peel back the epidermis, layer by layer. The brunt of this display of magic pummeled him into the side of the vehicle. The back of his skull cracked as it mashed against the brain matter of his dead comrade. The magic pulverized him into a bloody pulp as bones cracked and realigned, flesh shredded and nails split backwards revealing the soft fleshy interior.

By the time he was dead, the skaven exhaled one pathetic squeak in a pool of blood while slumped backwards. His body lay against the vehicle in a macabre pose. The chunks of his own bone were embedded into the metal and stapled him to it in some grisly form of crucifixion. His body was stripped of all flesh. All that lay behind were the pinkish, pulsing mass of muscle tissue and crushed organs.

Fueled by adrenaline and the sudden rush of an imminent victory within her grasp, Zenara grew overzealous in her aspirations and let her guard down. I witnessed the plague monk dispose of his censer and retrieve a small staff within his robes. Zenara gripped another fire and forget musket from her robes. A calculation that, would have worked in theory, but the plague monk was one step ahead. And I was too late.

The monk twirled the staff covered in strands of flesh stapled together. The skin in question and the origin of its original owner was left up for interpretation. I watched the top of the staff as a brownish green film erupted around a floating eye suspended by magic.

The film lashed out at Zenara. Her musket missed and her hand paid the ultimate price in return. The brownish filth engulfed her left hand up to her wrist. Zenara leaped through the air. Were it not for her quick wits and light footed step, she would have been completely engulfed by that filth.

Zenara's left hand molted and bubbled as blood and pus filled buboes formed all across her fingers and upon her palm. Small holes formed around the buboes while black fluids poured out a rancid scent into the air. Her agonizing cries and wails took me back. Skaven or not, she was an ally. They'd pay the price for hurting her.

I gripped Zenara and pulled her from harms way. With my free hand I braced the gun over Zenara's shoulder and fired. The round discharged, passing through his fingers and splintering his staff. A sudden flash and then white, burning bright light cast itself around the staff followed by a deafening roar. The weapon imploded. Sparks and a volley of torrential wind blew from all corners of the staff's end.

The plague priest fell flat on his back onto the concrete, grunting from the pain and in need of medical attention as blood ran down his stubby, splattered fingertips. I too fell back and crashed onto a pile of rocks and rubble, sustaining minor cuts and bruises. Zenara was several meters from me and not moving. I feared for the worse. I wanted to aid her. Why now? Why is there this need?

My arms lay still and unresponsive. By sheer willpower alone, I found myself pushing up and standing on wobbly legs. I rushed to Zenara and gripped her shoulder. My hands gently turned her over. Instantly, she coughed and gasped for air. Blood ran down her forehead. She'd live, thank God. "Are you alright? Do you need medical attention?"

Zenara looked at me. Her eyes were filled with debris and blood. They began watering as she realized what had happened. Zenara cried out, "I'll be alright, but we can't let that bastard escape!"

I helped her down the rubble and onto the underway proper. By the time we made it down, a trail of blood led behind the vehicle. He intended to escape. But just as we were about to make our move, I turned and saw more censer bearers approach us in defense of their master.

"If you can manage on your own, I will hold them off and give you as much time as you need to kill that diseased vermin."

Zenara cringed. Buboes burst from her hand. Brownish bloody fluid oozed down her arm. The hot fluids were sticky and smelled of an unpleasant odor like an outhouse on a hot summer day.

Through gritted teeth she huffed and made her thoughts known, "Do not underestimate them, Thavan. They are the elite of Clan Pestilen's. I will return once the parchment is in our hands. Oh, and do me a favor, would yah?"

"What?" I asked.

"Don't die."

"I won't. Now go!"

Zenara burst forward with an amount of speed I didn't know she was capable of. I turned and faced the three censer bearers approaching me with beady, verminous eyes. Protect Zenara and save Clan Grozen. If there was one witch hunter who could do it, then that would be me.

Blood and gore screamed for release, but all four of us were beckoned elsewhere. Thump. Thump. Thump. Something loomed behind the corner of the chaos chariot and it was big. Each step caused the ground around us to shake violently. Small stones and rocks vibrated across the underway while my balance and equilibrium seemed to be thrown off.

An odor so pungent and vile moved like wretched hands engulfing the battlefield in its horrid smell. My nostrils burned of a mixture of multiple scents. Burnt hair, rotting corpses and a profuse quantity of vomit and sizzling flesh sent my mind reeling. It was like a field surgeon's encampment tinged with blood and rotten flesh. Dizziness struck me as I gripped my head. Nausea plagued my body and mind as I tried to fight back my gag reflexes. My mouth wouldn't stop salivating no matter how many times I swallowed. Even the followers of Pestilen's appeared visually ill by the aroma wafting through the air.

I tried to fight back the inevitable flood. It was to no avail. The sharp acidic flavor of bile came out of my mouth and nostrils. Like a roaring flood it expelled violently. The burning substance pooled around me as I hunched over and vomited what remained in my stomach. It was a fresh respite. The smell of my own acids lessened the horrible smell. It's bad when the contents of ones own stomach smelled of sweet incense and roses in comparison to that god awful creature beyond my line of sight.

As I stood straight and wiped the droplets of bile from my nose and mouth, I watched that entity pass beyond the chaos vehicle, revealing itself to us. And here I thought it couldn't be as ugly as it smelled.

A face warped with green eyes and pupils in the shape of the stars of chaos skimmed across the battlefield with violent intent. It grumbled and scratched its shoulder lazily. Upon its head a crown of horns dug out of its skull. It resembled one of the many chaos daemon drawings I had seen in churches so long ago. A maw of innumerable teeth opened wide. Sticky layers of saliva stretched from his teeth to the roof of his mouth. Rows of blunt teeth interspersed with razor wire daggers for tearing off layers of flesh were spread throughout it's ghastly mouth.

The creature lurched forward, exhaling a deep breath tinged in a green hue. The acrid scent would have had me on my knees were it not for the protective coating of bile covering my mouth and nose.

The grey and brownish colors of its flesh appeared molted and covered in buboes and scabs. Puss oozed from tiny holes in its body along its armpits and thighs. Some layers of flesh looked like it were ready to slough away at any instant as an excess hung loosely from its body.

In its right hand it held a makeshift pickax. The pointed edge was tied to the handle by ropes wrapping around all corners to keep it in place. The handle couldn't be anything but petrified tree-bark. The size and length of that weapon must have easily equaled the length of my body and double my weight.

It was also graced by a large gash upon its left arm. The wound festered while small insect-like creatures swarmed in and out of the hole. It refused to heal. Instead, it and the rest of its wounds seeped down onto the rocky ground, leaving behind a slimy trail of disease and decay. Trolls are known for their regenerative qualities. But this, this thing was unlike any I have ever heard of.

The monster stretched its freehand, revealing those daggers for fingernails. Everything about this thing cautioned me to give it a wide berth. A bile troll is what the champion referred to it as. The situation was deteriorating fast with that thing on the loose.

As Varron fired another barrage of rounds, he hit it squarely in the chest. The bullets barely made an impact. It roared and slammed the ax into the ground, breaking up a chunk of rock. With renewed vigor the troll surged forward in a lumbering gait, carrying itself on musclebound legs. They'd be torn apart if I didn't hurry.

All three Clan Pestilen's monk turned and faced me, ready for battle. Alright, kill the censer bearers. Clear a pathway for Zenara and find a way to dispatch that bile troll. Got it.

"Sigmar walks with me followers of Pestilens. The dark gods will not shine in your favor. Come forth and welcome an eternity of silence!"

Challenge accepted. The two in the lead scurried forward on furry legs. Their dirty robes flapped while their tails cracked against the ground. This isn't the first time an entity has charged after me with the intent to kill.

Bam! Bam! Bam! The musket roared with each pull of the trigger. A plume of black smoke surrounded the gun and the smell of black powder tinged the air.

The first shot broke through his ribcage and ruptured his heart. The second round traveled through his shoulder and embedded into his shoulder-blade. The bullet cracked the bone but remained lodged nonetheless. The final round split his lower jaw in two and sent a mouthful of teeth and blood spilling from the gaping hole. The bullet's journey came to a halt deep within the back of his head. Was the third round necessary? No. But I did so enjoy a good bloodletting with new weaponry at my disposal.

The skaven's dead eyes rolled into the back of his head. Blood pulsed from the entry and exit wounds. His tattered and diseased ridden robes were now covered in his life-force. Bone fragments forming a pseudo dam in his muzzle gave way to a deluge of blood and teeth. The skaven fell face forward into a growing pool of red. A wet and crunchy thud sounded the moment it hit the rock.

Faced with impending death, the second charger ever faster. I aimed, exhaled, and eased into...nothing. Click. Are you kidding me? The damn thing jammed. Brand new skaven tech and it already has failed me. Somehow one of the balls got lodged into the loader. There was no time for this. I holstered the weapon on my hip and pulled out a rapier with my left hand.

The distance was closed, the edge now rested in his hands. Any bits of bare flesh were now touched by the incense from the censer. My skin instantly itched and burned. Splotches upon my face broke out in rashes and sores.

My senses screamed for me to scratch at my now bleeding face, to relieve the itching hell I have been granted. Instead, I remained poised as he swung the two handed flail and sent it right for my chest. I parried the blow with rapier and now a dagger within my right hand. The handles vibrated violently against the force of the bludgeoning weapon. Still, I held my ground and breath. I wasn't inhaling that filth.

An opening sat ready to be exploited. With the rapier deflecting his attack, my dagger was poised for bloodshed. The kneecap, an opening in plain sight. Press deep and twist. Thick, coagulated blood oozed from the wound. The skaven barely registered the damage as he growled and a buboe popped on his face covering my cheek in yellowish white fluids.

Something came loose in my mind as the world around me grew dim. My mind as I knew it altered as I smiled at the skaven and licked the fluids from my cheek.

Inhale aggression and exhale death. This was the ultimate expression of warfare and I reveled in the taste of fear and hate. Let flow their arteries and spill countless gallons of blood until I am covered in every drop of their life-force. Watching the light fade from their eyes brings undeniable glee to my face. More! I screamed! More!

At this distance the rapier was unavailable. My grip on the dagger loosened. I left the weapon embedded in his leg.

Once again I unholstered my musket, and jammed it forward into the open maw of the censer bearer. Teeth chipped away by the sudden force as it burrowed through his mouth. The momentum jerked the internal mechanism into place and a round lodged into the firing chamber.

Black smoke blew into the skavens mouth while the ball flew from the gun and splattered point blank. The crack of the weapon was muffled partially by the fact it was halfway through his mouth. When the bullet connected, a grand display of inhuman gore followed.

Fire from the muzzle exploded outward and onto his gums. In turn, it cauterized the roof and sides of his now blackened mouth. The ball burrowed through layers of tissue and bone, expanding outward into the cranial cavity and then proceeded to blow a hole out of the back of his skull.

His ally become a coated mess of blood and brain fluids. He hissed as the fluids blinded his eyes and denied him his vision.

I watched the pressure from the explosion pop the dead skaven's eye from its socket. It dangled by a cord down his muzzle as a clear but viscous fluid oozed from the hole. The other eye bulged outward but had not popped.

The skaven fell backwards. Its twitching tongue, coated in blood, trailed down the length of the cold steel musket, coating the weapon in saliva and hemoglobin. A wet pop rang as it dislodged from its mouth. The perverse undertones were apparent and yet, I reveled in the insanity.

My focus on slaughtering my foes would have been the death of me right there. My one track mind never saw the flail coming, but Teeshna had.

One moment, the skaven before me had all appendages in check, the next, from the neck up there was nothing but a hole with split veins pumping blood into the air. A coating of the fluids sprayed across my face and brought me back to reality. Why...why did I...what the hell is wrong with me?

I turned to Teeshna and nodded. There was nothing I could do now. It was time to see how the others were fai...no.

The bile troll had them pinned down. Varron was out of ammo and Ziv held the final globe in his hand.

"No no no no no! Goddammit no! I won't let it happen once more! I swear to God I cannot bear this again! I won't. I will not slip this chance at redemption."

I pushed forward but my legs refused to budge. I stood there and watched, unable to save them. An invisible force of some unknown origin detained me. When I thought it couldn't get any worse, my eyes blinked and I was transported from this world.

No longer was I standing within the underway. Above me was a sky as rich and deep as freshly spilled blood. A black full moon swam through this unholy mirage. I noticed I was partially sinking as I looked downward and saw my feet were several inches in this mushy, writhing, pulsating mass of...organs? As I stepped on the stuff it twitched and spurted a milky white substance onto my boots.

Every step I took, the ground bled that fluid while I trudged through this place of nowhere. All around me there were erect monoliths constructed of human corpses stretching across the horizon and beyond into the clouds. Off in the distance, a great vortex bleeding colors of red and violet blasted hellfire and death onto the world below. Anything left behind from its hellish embrace was changed forever. All that remained was charred blackness and soot floating across the sky.

Anybody in their right mind should be unnerved by the sight alone. But the added silence to the scenery only served to soothe me. There was no fear when there should have been.

"If there is evil here then show yourself. By Sigmar I command you."

"And what if I told you your 'sigmar' held no sway over me?" Questioned an inhumanly deep and vicious voice filled with contempt.

"The child asked a question. He deserves an answer." Added a much softer and soothing toned voice.

"And rightfully so." Gurgled a chunky voice that ended its words with a wet and throaty belch.

"He's struggled and survived. The man deserves a reward." Another voice, soft, sensual, and definitely feminine spoke this time.

"Can't you see? We are here, inside your mind." She giggled as I felt a specter force, neither physical in the material sense nor visible brush against me.

Its breasts were pressed tightly against my back. A slender hand clawed down my buckle and undid the fastenings with one tug. It then crept underneath, dragging its cold flesh and nails against my skin. I tried to remove myself from this being but her presence alone kept me in place.

"You fight and slaughter in the name of your god. It still isn't enough. It never will be." The deep toned one claimed.

"Your god has abandoned you. Those who bore beneath your blood are there for you. They are your family." The silken voiced male dictated.

"Embrace your family. Walk by my side." He chuckled through a mouth full of saliva and what sounded like food?

An insidiously cold and feminine voice whispered sweet words into my ear, "Show them your power..."

She moaned huskily as her warm hand gripped my genitals and squeezed. I gasped and moaned shamefully through lidded eyes. My limbs grew heavy as I leaned against her for support.

"I...I can't. It must remain bottled up lest I find myself seeking what I have fought so hard to contain."

"Your allies are dying. You promised you wouldn't allow this to happen again. Do you seek to fail them as you have failed those before?" The softer toned mail chastised me.

"Shut up!" I screamed.

Their hold over me relinquished. I stepped away from this obscenity and tightened my belt once again.

"Take me back. Take me back goddammit!"

Silence. Only the promise of nothing returned to me.

"They've been expecting you, Thavan." She laughed with venom laced words.

The ground around me shook so violently and writhed against the mass of organs that I was assured an earthquake commenced. And then, like some macabre nightmare ripped right from a children's dream, I saw them. They rose their shambling arms from the mush and decay. A pestilence horde.

Men, half eaten and decomposed came from all corners of the ground, rising upward such as the undead. Some were crawling up from the murky milky white fluids, their entrails trailed behind their dismembered torso's. Others were missing their heads as they stood with swords in hand.

It was only then had I realized it was my men as Hadran appeared. The left side of his face was eaten away, revealing the inner cavity of his skull. A single milky white eye watched me. Him and the remaining men stood at attention as they covered all of my flanks. Without warning, they trudged forward in their shuffling gaits and unnatural poses.

An image of the real world tore through the sky. Varron, Sorn, and Ziv were cornered, out of ammo and bloody. The chaos champion and troll were set on a path to kill them all.

"Would you let them die due to your cowardice?" She cooed mockingly.

My eyes locked to Hadran's. His voice-box croaked to life, wheezing out words spoken in broken and hideous pauses. "Thavan, our...our deaths are on your hands. Why did you carr...carry on while we were left...left...left...behind? You failed them. You failed me. You failed this world!"

No!" I wailed through tear stained eyes. "I tried! You have to believe me! All of you! I wanted to die that day! All those years of misery, God I wanted it to end! Something kept me here and I don't know why! Since the time of your passing I have been haunted by this weight. I know it is my fault. I am not worthy of forgiveness."

I collapsed onto the ground as Hadran stood over me. His lone eye staring upon my pathetic countenance. I wept tears of pain and sadness. I wept for forgiveness and redemption. But most of all, I wept for those I have failed.

Hadran stared down at me as did the others. He offered no absolution for my past sins. He merely shook his head as they all began laughing at me. Their bones cracked and creaked as their voices droned on in this horrible soulless cackle. Soon, their jaws popped and snapped, ready to feast upon my body. Oh God, they never blinked, they never blinked!

My world caved in as my sanity ebbed beyond my mind. "Save me! Save them! I beg of you!" My pleas had not fallen on deaf ears.

The female replied in cold, mocking utterance, "Good boy."

# # # #

Zenara cleaned her bloody dagger with one swipe from the cloth. She stood over the dead plague priest, watching his body twitch one final time. The warpstone payload was inside these walls. She confirmed it with her own eyes. It had been one hell of a fight, but he was no match for her.

The signed documents she so desperately needed were safely hiding in her right breast pocket within her robes. The mission was almost a complete success. She only needed to check on her fellow comrades and see how they fared, including Thavan.

Zenara found herself back outside onto a much quieter battlefield. She wasn't quite sure if this pleased her or filled her heart with dismay. Thavan was nowhere to be seen. In fact, it appeared that everyone got up and left. The sight of the three dead censer bearers left her in a state of confusion. She needed to find them now.

Zenara rushed around the vehicle supported by the doom wheels. Her eyes spotted what she dreaded the most. Varron and Sorn were locked in a losing game of cat and mouse against that formidable champion of chaos. He swung his massive sword with enough strength to send currents of wind bursting outward. Sorn blocked the attack with his own sword lest he be cut in half. His sword shattered against the might of chaos steel and his hand fractured. He grunted in pain and backpeddled on stumbling legs. They were both defenseless against their enemies attacks.

Ziv lay broken and bleeding. His armor was dented inward from a punch he sustained by the bile troll. That same troll closed in with its weapon raised.

Zenara watched on in horror at the sight before her. She was too far away to close the distance. The winds of magic had waned. A spell was impossible. What would she do?

Her mind desperately tried to formulated a plan, but, the unexpected happened. The weapon, primed to kill Ziv, swung downward. Black puffs of smoke and fog materialized between the two. The attack was destined to skewer Ziv in the chest, yet it had not touched him.

There he stood betwixt the two with blackened gem-like eyes. No color remained. His orbs were in essence, the absence of light. Thavan's left hand held back the killing blow by gripping the trolls balled fist clenched around the weapon. For the first time in that creatures miserably dim life, it was startled.

Its free hand swung downward, intending to punch the puny human. Thavan's other hand caught that too. They were both locked in a tug of war. Thavan refused to relent even as the troll pushed against his resistance and drove him back several inches. Thavan grunted but held the troll at bay.

And then as if saying 'my turn,' he grinned an inhumanly evil smile with teeth unlike that of his own kind. Rows of pointed fangs revealed themselves. Pearly white and ready to tear into flesh.

He squeezed the trolls massive hands against his tiny ones. The bones creaked as the flesh mashed into it. Then, one by one, its fingers popped and split, breaking against his aggression. A crescendo of increasingly louder cracks encapsulated his dominance over the troll as the wrist snapped and the fingers bent in impossible directions. Thavan pressed so hard pieces of flesh from the troll's fingers were embedded into its own weapon.

Thavan loosened his grip on the troll and allowed the weapon to fall from its mangled fingertips. It cracked the firmament as it smashed the ground before it. The monster roared and screamed until Thavan broke every bone in its hands and wrists. At that moment, Teeshna fired her last round and blew off the bony ridge along its head. Soft, inner flesh became visible.

Its slackened jaw hung loose. The troll intended to vomit a deluge of acidic bile that would have surely killed the human. Nothing came. What was once so easy is now the only thing separating it and death. The insect-like creatures in its arm boiled alive in open sores and pockets of blood. All of this was the work of Thavan. Or was it?

Thavan pushed the monster backward with both of his fists and using his foot as a brace against its stomach. It careened into a barrel roll, crashing into a boulder and halted into a bloody stop.

Thavan reached downward and hefted the weapon with his two hands. He grunted against its weight but stood firm and maintained his grasp. The inhuman display of strength even forced Ziv to pause and gasp at his own disbelief.

Thavan roared as the creature climbed up and stood on strained legs. He surged forward and drove the weapon into the opening of its skull. The bladed tip of the pickax pierced past the remnants of its fleshy armor. It embedded halfway through until the bulge of the pointed tip stretched through its throat.

The pointed stars of chaos that were its eyes blinked one final time. Thavan scrambled its brain and severed its spinal cord in one swing.

Strange fluids pooled around the wound as putrescent flesh oozed off of its bones and onto the ground. Thavan let go of the weapon just as the monsters eyes rolled into the back of its skull and its mouth hung ajar. It fell face forward so violently onto the underway that rocks and debris broke upon impact and those who stood around the creature shook against the vibrations.

Thavan uttered not one word as he walked toward the chaos champion with no weapons in hand. Thavan popped his knuckles then stretched his fingers outward. A black, wispy-like flame immolated both of his hands, starting from his fingertips, then down to his wrists.

The chaos champion sensed something amiss. The winds of magic were funneling backward into something. He turned from a bloody and battered Varron to see for himself.

"So it's true. You are..." The chaos champion blinked.

His mouth opened but no words left them. Vocalization within his throat cut short. There was nothing. He felt a constricting sensation start from his toes and worked its way up to his head. His armor felt increasingly restricting upon his flesh.

Thavan's hands were roughly a foot apart from one another. Slowly but surely he pushed them together. The flames grew darker and spread across Thavan's body.

The chaos champion groaned. He dropped his weapon while blood slowly trickled between the cracks of his armor. The armor continued to press deeper until it tore through flesh. Armor and flesh became one in this ungodly display of magic.

Thavan wasted no time in theatrics. He slammed his hands together. Black fire burst from his fingertips. His entire body became one with the flames.

The armor enclosed on the man of chaos. Bones snapped and flesh tore asunder. This armor gifted by his dark gods would also become his tomb. Even the armor itself snapped as it contorted and bent in unnatural directions. It constricted across his body like that of a snake.

Blood spurted from splits veins and shot out from newly formed holes in his armor like a fountain. The armor continued to bend inward as the man writhed on the ground. Thavan snapped his fingers and the body stretched. He snapped them again and the body flailed forward and backward until his spine cracked. Blood continued to spurt from the holes, covering the underway in his fetid blood.

Thavan swayed and danced, motioning his body to a tune only he could hear. Wherever he moved a thin film of blackness was left behind on the underway. This continued until the others realized he was forming a star of chaos below him. Once his antics had concluded, he stood in the middle and watched the champions final moments.

The armor crushed his skull in and split down the middle of his chest. His organs, hot and steamy spilled forth from his ruptured chest. They were green in color and covered in parasitical worms. As everything stilled, Thavan watched the corpse while the others looked on in silence.

Sorn aided Ziv while Varron licked his wounds. Each of them remained behind Zenara as Teeshna and Neeshi rushed to their aid. The entire squad rallied under her. Most were bloodied and battered, but they'd survive.

Zenara walked toward Thavan but she was thwarted as Varron gripped her arm. "Be careful, Zenara. You saw what he did. He snapped a troll's bones with his bare hands and crushed a champion of chaos' armor with the flick of his fingers. Our damned weapons barely dented-damaged his. Their armor is comparable to that of dwarfen gromril. Swords will snap when they clash against it. Bullets will stop dead or bounce off. No mortal man could do such a thing yes-yes. Do you understand? If he attacks-pounces you, we cannot defend you."

Zenara gripped his paw. "I will be alright. It is because of him we are having this conversation. Now..."

She trailed off as she turned to Thavan and noticed the star of chaos faded underneath him and the black flames subsided. Zenara watched the fallen witch hunter. Fear and apprehension gripped her but she dare not admit it.

Upon trembling legs she walked forward. "Thavan...Thavan is that you?"

Her staff remained at her side. Although an useless extension without magic. There were no spells she could conjure. Her hands trembled and her voice quaked. "Thavan...?"

"That is my name. Is it not?"

Dark. So very dark. His usual semi gruff tone was there but it seemed masked. That perhaps there was something else there with him. It sounded warped and inhuman. She knew it. Still, she refused to give up on the human.

"Friend or foe?" She squeaked out a barely audible question.

Thavan twitched. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. No response came.

Ziv nursed his fractured rib with his free hand. Neeshi lugged the rifle over his shoulder with both hands while he watched his fellow allies. Teeshna held a blade at the ready. At any sign of aggression she would launch the dagger right for his throat. Sorn watched and waited beside Ziv.

A standoff ensued as Zenara walked closer to Thavan. Her hands shaked uncontrollably as they reached for a musket in her cloak. She hesitated as he turned.

"You tell me." He said with bright, glistening gray eyes.

Zenara heaved and breathed in a sigh of relief. She lowered her hand and staff. The tension flat-lined. The rest of her allies relaxed.

"Come on." Said Thavan. "We have a job to finish. Let's gather the warpstone and then report back to Grodmoor. I could use a bath and a cold drink."

Even his voice was back to normal. It almost seemed like what they had seen was nothing more than a mirage. But it wasn't, and that is what terrified Zenara the most.

* * *

 **Hello. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. This one was a doozy to write and edit. I am sorry I have not been uploading lately. I have been very busy with personal issues that have kept me from writing. I am not abandoning this story nor will that happen. It will be finished at some point. I am still trying to get set up that discord channel for us to chat on but with the way my life has been lately, I have had very little time to even think it seems. Anywho, you know the drill. Reviews favorites and likes let me know this story has a following. Keep it up please. Until next time. Have a wonderful day.**


	6. Chapter 5

Of Atonement And Salvation: The End Times

Chapter 5

Merit Or Trust?

Written by S. J. Kandil

(Thavan Vanamar / Location – Clan Grozen Throne Room / – Time – (03/20/2519)

"I've read the report." Grunted Grodmoor.

"I even took it upon myself to discuss the matter in further detail among those who were there."

"And what is your conclusion on the matter?" I questioned as the skaven lord clasped his hands together.

Grodmoor lowered his hands and sat forward. His armor crackled and creaked to his motions. "That I was right about you. You not only saved Ziv's life but the entire squad. Had you not been there, our mission would have been a failure. Your actions are beyond commendable. You protected them as you'd protect your own. The journey you lead has been rocky and perilous. Lesser men would have died if they were cast into your role. You set aside your differences toward the skaven and performed like the witch hunter you were born to be. It is because of you I have this."

Grodmoor added extra emphasis on the S as he pulled from his breast pocket the pact we stole from Clan Pestilens.

I stood with my head up and shoulders straightened with my hands clasped together behind my back. "Petty differences must be set aside if we are to survive the coming invasion. It's unorthodox but it's all we've got. I don't like any of you. I will be the first to admit that. If I sit and ruminate over something I can't change then I am hopeless and deserve a bullet to my head. I must always look forward. I will continue to aid my God Sigmar in another path. This is that path. You are the one who brought me back and for that I am grateful. I am filled with purpose once more. This second chance mustn't be squandered, for I seek to atone for my sins and bathe in salvation. It is what I crave more than any of you will ever understand. Still though, we must address what transpired that day. You know what happened to me, don't you?"

Grodmoor gripped a silver goblet on a platter off to his side. He twirled the goblet between his fingertips as the golden colored fluids swirled. The goblet tilted back with a jerk of his wrist. Grodmoor swallowed the liquids in two gulps. The smell of honey and strong spirits wafted through the air and danced across my senses.

"I do."

"Then you realize the power that flows beneath my veins is a danger to us all."

"It is."

"How can you be so nonchalant in regards to this topic? The forces of Chaos have always gnawed at my mind, their tendril's clawing deeper and deeper. I have been the good soldier that The Empire of Man asked me to be. But what I saw that day, it was unlike anything before. I was transported to the realm of Chaos. I stood firmly against forces that could tear me apart with a snap of their fingers. Humans lose their mind when they travel to that dimension but I felt nothing. Four followers of Chaos spoke to me upon my arrival. They offered me aid in exchange that I begged for it. I failed myself and those before me as I plead for mercy and to protect my allies. I feel that this is but the first trial before me and I have already succumbed to their advances, who's to say I won't fail the final challenge?"

Grodmoor placed the goblet back onto the platter and stared back at me. "There is no guarantee to any of this. You must ask yourself this: if the forces of Chaos would kill their own kind to protect you, what does this mean for all of us?"

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Think, Thavan, if our world is spiraling toward another path, then The End Times must alter as well. Who's to say the Chaos you encountered are nothing but a splinter faction in a far greater game we have no knowledge of."

And then it all hit me. "Is that even possible? My interactions with their kind was always short and ended in bloodshed so I have no foundation on which to question this. We cannot deny that the Chaos have always disregarded their forces and used them like the pawns they were. Either or, in the coming days, I believe we'll find the answer each of us seek."

"Agreed." Said Grodmoor.

"When all of this is said and done, I need you to know that I am thankful I have been given this second chance. As you've said, my own kind have already forgotten me. And even though you know what I am capable of doing, you still keep me around."

"Do not be so quick to thank me, Vanamar. I realize the potential you have, and if you can use their strengths against them I would gladly see it through. We are at war, and we must use everything at our disposal to win. Oh, and concerning Zenara, It is her you should be thanking. It was Zenara who planned the mission to save you. I only sanctioned it. She spent months studying and analyzing their ways of life to pluck your from their grasp. She was so relieved to see her plans come to fruition. She believed you were of the top priority even though she knew that once we acted, our rescue operation would turn bloody for Clan Vanmeek and possibly us too. The other clans would grow wind of this and act. Once we finalized our plan of attack, we must press onward with our plan for time was running thin."

Grodmoor stopped and took a breath before continuing."You can hate me and everyone else in my empire. It makes no difference to me. I simply suggest that you should, perhaps, reconsider the way you treat her. I saw the marks on her throat. Even though she tried her best to hide them, I know what you did. Had anybody else in my empire done that to her, they'd be executed. But I won't reprimand you or do anything of the sort. Had I been in your shoes I would have probably killed her."

I said nothing as Grodmoor sighed. "Our alliance is a delicate matter that must be managed appropriately. We will accommodate you. All I ask, is at the very least, consider her feelings."

I nodded. "The more you discuss about her, it almost seems as if she were obsessed with my rescue. Is there an underlying reason behind this?"

Grodmoor shrugged. "If there is, I can assure you she has never mentioned it to me. Zenara and I operate this empire jointly. She has plans and I have my own. We come together when it is necessary."

He placed the goblet on the table and then popped his neck. "I will be taking my leave very soon, Thavan. The embers of treachery and deceit must grow into a great conflagration if we are to reign in this Under Empire. This is the next step of this grand puzzle. The skaven are becoming restless. The twin tailed comet will pass along this planets atmosphere someday soon. It will herald the beginning of The End Times. The skaven may only unite under my rule. And this next step can only be completed by myself. You all have done your part. It is now my turn. Because of your contributions, I have granted you and the others leave. Some of the other skaven who accompanied you were injured in the fight but are in stable conditions. They'll need time to rest."

Grodmoor stood and walked down the carpet with goblet in hand. He was outfitted in heavier gear today than any other time before. Plate and mail covered him from his neck down to his feet. "You are currently located in my keep within my underground castle. The doors you saw within the common area several days ago lead down into my city. The others feared you, feared what you might do if you were unleashed into my society. That mass hysteria has withered away as your contributions were made known. There will still be many who are unsure of you. No human has ever stepped foot into this city. You are an exotic being. If some stare, understand you are new to them. But I digress. Your access into the city proper has been approved. You may stay here or live in the city. I'll leave that to you."

Grodmoor grabbed a bottle with a cork sitting beside it on the platter. He dumped what was left into the goblet. The skaven gripped the goblet as the fluids swirled into a small vortex as they swished around the rim of the cup. The cup pressed close to his mouth as he finished what was left.

"Finally, is there anything I can do for you, Thavan? Food, drink, or perhaps a female to bring you to a blissful sleep? Our women might be furrier than yours, but I can assure you it all works the same down there." Stated Grodmoor with widened, exaggerated eyes.

In my own ignorance over this topic, I truly believe my cheeks flushed at his straightforwardness on this topic. Witch hunters are sexually abstinent. They are not allowed to experience the pleasures of the flesh.

"I will have to decline on that offer. But there is one thing I want." I admitted.

"Name it."

"I'd like to see the sun again. It has been many years since I have felt the warming rays of light upon my skin. It's all I want." And that was the truth.

"Done." His word was absolute.

Grodmoor placed his goblet on a table and walked toward me. He extended his hand out. "This is how humans greet one another, correct? To show they are equals?"

I looked down at his hand. A mass of swirling thoughts echoed through my mind. The sights I have seen and the things that have happened to me since I arrived here have created a completely different outcome. Should I be so close minded that I would deny him such a simple but meaningful gesture? No.

I reached forward and shook it firmly. "It is. It is to convey trust and some would say friendship."

Grodmoor looked down at me but said nothing as our hands parted.

The door leading into his chambers opened. I turned to greet the newcomer. It was Zenara. She was clothed in her usual assortment of robes draped across her person. The colors on this one differed. It was jet black with blue accents and rich silver tassels. The Clan Grozen insignia was emblazoned on her back.

Her robes were open in the middle, revealing an elegant dress of deep crimson and silver highlights. The material puffed out more toward her waist and down to her kneecaps where it stopped. It was rather obvious she was wearing a corset beneath her dress. Her breasts were tighter and firmer against the fabric while her waist seemed thinner and her hips were wider too. A perfect hourglass figure.

Zenara's snow white fur scintillated under the glimmer of candlelight. She batted her long eyelashes and smiled as she lowered her hood. Her blue eyes and soft feminine features struck me.

"What is it, Thavan? Is there something wrong?"

And that was when it occurred to me I'd been ogling over her. Get yourself together Thavan! She is not your species! You cannot bed with the enemy. As a witch hunter that is your...was a witch hunter.

"No, everything is alright, Zenara. Sorry, a lot has been on my mind."

She paused briefly and then smiled as Grodmoor interjected between us, "Are you alright with guiding him through the city? How is your hand doing? Has it healed up?"

"I've sustained worse." Sighed an indifferent Zenara with a raised hand covered in gauze.

"And yes, he needs a guide. I will be that guide."

Suddenly, the doors flung open as a frazzled Feefee scurried into the room holding a stack of paperwork.

"Thavan, Zenara, it is good to see you both!" She exclaimed as she rushed past us both and placed the paperwork on a table near Grodmoor. The short skaven pressed her spectacles to her eyes. Her nose twitched and her fur was matted from sweat. She wore a long overcoat alongside a tucked in blouse and a loose, flowing skirt.

She then rushed beside Grodmoor and whispered something into his ear. He showed no emotion. A mask covered his thoughts on whatever she said. That was the sign of a good leader. One who leaves nothing for the enemy to glean information from.

When she was finished, Grodmoor turned to each of us. "If you'll excuse me, I have to leave. I'll be gone for sometime. Once this business venture has concluded, I will return. As you know, Zenara, you will reign in my stead."

Grodmoor started to take his leave but he turned on his heels at the last moment and looked at Zenara once more. "Oh, and before I forget, Thavan has made a request; he'd like to see the sun. Please see to it that his wish is granted."

Zenara placed her hand to her chest. "It will be done. I'll send word to our assassins along the underway. If an ambush commences, we will be watching over you."

That was it. We said our farewells to Feefee and Grodmoor. From then on, it was just the two of us in the throne room.

"Shall we?" Smirked a mischievous Zenara.

My eyes watched her as I blinked twice in disbelief. "We're gonna go now?"

Her tail swished back and forth gently as she raised an eyebrow. "Why not? That is what you want isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Then follow me."

Before long we arrived back into the assembly area leading down into a city I have never seen. Zenara walked away from me and pulled a lever near the gates. A moment passed and then they croaked to life.

If somebody were to ask me what I expected to see beyond those doors, I'd be hesitant to answer. My first assumption would lead to a cleaner and less diseased ridden version of Clan Vanmeek's city. That was too simple. Too rudimentary and close minded of me. But even if I were to try and think beyond that limited scope of the mind, nothing would have prepared me for what stood beyond those gates.

It was beautiful. And I'd be lying if I stated otherwise. Giant bio-luminescent blue veined mushrooms piqued my interest immediately. Some were the size of small mountains as they spread throughout the city and beyond into the titanic cavern that stretched for miles.

Small blue spores fell from the gills of the mushrooms and sparkled in the underground world. They twinkled in the light of the cavern like tiny stars against a backdrop of a blackened rocky sky. The mushrooms glowed a beautiful, deep oceanic blue that left the entire cavern glowing in that pleasant hue.

From where I stood the castle overlooked the entire city until it stretched beyond what was visible. This city was far larger than what I originally pictured.

The cities buildings encompassed a wide variety of designs. Tall spiked roofs led down into slanted ends with windows straddling underneath. These flashier ones were carved and formed from the rock itself. Other buildings had a more rustic feel, utilizing wood and any manor of material they could use to erect the structures. These were made for the poorer townsfolk I presumed. Their first concern was having a home to live in above all else.

All around the city were walls covering the most vital entrances from intrusion. Their protective grasp ensured the people of Grozen were taken care of. Even from here I could see the outline of tiny skaven troops walking along the battlements. They looked to be no larger than a piece of grain.

Zenara nudged me. "Yes?" I said without turning to her.

"I see the mushrooms have caught your eye. They go great in just about anything. Wait till you try Ziv's recipe for mushroom soup. I think you'll appreciate its flavor and aroma."

"I'll have to try it sometime." I admitted.

"Would you believe they serve a greater purpose than just for food? We've also found out they have a purifying quality to them. Because of that, they've been used in the process of reverse engineering warpstone. That is where it gets its signature blueish color."

"Clan Grozen is full of surprises are they not?" I said in a bewildered tone. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to figure this clan out.

As we walked down past the keep, I glanced over to a large building with stained glass windows and a sharp pointed top. Was that a sorcerer's tower? It stretched higher than most of the structures within the keep. It was a cross-ways of sort between the castle and the city but it still remained sheltered behind the walls of the castle.

"Who's building is that? Yours?" I asked with an outstretched hand pointed toward the spire.

She cocked her head to the side. Zenara seemed amused by my question but I saw no humor in it. Her tail swished behind her.

"You are right, Thavan. That is where I live when I am not embarking on a myriad list of chores to finish. Lately, I do not have the pleasure of spending time within my home. What do you think of it?"

"It's certainly interesting. It almost reminds me of the church steeples back home. The architecture is heavily inspired by humanity. Either that, or the skaven and humans share similarities." The thought of us being more alike left me standing there silent and feeling a little uneasy at that prospect.

She stopped and said, "I do not know where you intend to stay, but if you ever need me for anything, do not hesitate to ask. Even if I am asleep, you may come and wake me."

I stared at her. The one who saved me from my life of torture and misery. Her soft and gentle voice beamed with emotion and concern. Some would like a personality such as hers. In truth, it eased my mind. But what was the founding reason as to why she desired to help me so dearly? That is what concerned me. Someday I must find out. But not today. As she said, on her terms.

"I'll ugh, I''ll keep that in mind. I'm thinking about taking residence for a period of time in the heart of the town to familiarize myself with Grozen's way of life. If I am to be a part of this empire then I must understand its people."

Zenara seemed interested by that prospect as her ears perked up. "Ziv lives right where you are considering on going. He would most likely have a spare room. You could check with him."

"Thanks. I'll consider that."

Zenara walked past me then turned around and walked backwards while staring at me. "Enough with the chatter. How about we go topside, eh?"

"I'd like that." At least then, I spoke the truth.

Nothing else was said as we traveled into the core of the city. Perhaps this was a bad idea? Hundreds of beady black and red eyes watched me from every nook, cranny and back alley. A fur-less one walked through their streets. Some actually crossed the street to avoid walking near me. Was it fear? Or hate?

"Not a great reception so far, Zenara. I mean, it is better than being beaten and threatened to be eaten alive. That's a start I suppose. Although, should I worry about a blade in the dark finding its way between my rib-cage?"

She shrugged. "Doubtful. You are marked by Grodmoor himself. They look at because you are new and foreign. None of the skaven within this empire wish to earn the ire of their lord. You were once no different. Fear and hate were what embodied your everything. Time heals many things. Trust is earned and you are earning it."

Why did I hope she was right? Why should I concern myself with what they think? Because the fate of my entire species is on the line and these skaven are the only ones holding that damned line.

We walked for some time until we neared a rather bizarre sight that forced me to take notice. I spotted multiple gondola's rising up and into the air. They were carried by steel cords and zigzagged throughout the city. This must have been the main form of transportation as the skaven were lined up on all manner of the platforms, coming and going throughout their daily lives.

Zenara looked back at me. "Remain close, Thavan. The lift is the fastest way to the surface. The closer we near the lifts, the heavier the crowds will get. And I don't want you getting lost."

"Thanks mom."

The snide remark fell on deaf ears. "Hmmm? What'd you say?" Asked Zenara while her gaze focused onward.

"Oh nothing."

This was the place of travel and commerce as crowds of skaven gathered around merchants squawking about their wares. Muskets, food, and clothing were only a handful of the things on display within the center of town. This sight alone was bizarre enough for the uninitiated, but what I couldn't shake is the fact they spoke Reikspiel, the language of the Empire of Man.

The skaven of Clan Vanmeek uttered broken words that were barely coherent between their squeaks and grunts. Only part of that carried over into the followers of this clan. I needed to know.

Through the chatter of the crowds I called out to Zenara, "Why does everybody speak my mother tongue?"

"That..." She dodged past a female with two babies clutching her chest while another two youngsters tagged behind the mother. "...is a good question."

The children stopped and stared at me only briefly before the mother turned and scolded them for lagging behind. I waved to the small children, a boy and a girl. They both stared at one another then lazily waved back.

They were actually quite adorable as they waddled after their mother, stumbling over their own feet as they learned how to walk. Their tales also posed a challenge as it was longer than them and sometimes got caught between their feet. The soft downy-like fur and childlike features and mannerisms they exhibited reminded me of the children of my own species. Human or not, I always I believed in protecting children and their innocence from a world that only consumed.

Seeing them reminded me of something I always wanted but could never have: A family. A wife and children to continue my legacy and inspire my children to be better than I ever was. Am I even fit for something like that? I know how to kill and maim in the name of the church, not how to raise a child. It's a fantasy.

We stepped onto the platform where the gondola's made their home. A stormvermin stood near the controls of the platforms. The instant he spotted Zenara, he took a bow. Upon seeing myself, he only glared with glowing red eyes.

"Take you two where-where?" He croaked in a guttural tone.

"Surface." Said Zenara.

He stepped forward and pulled a lever, the doors to the most spacious gondola opened and we stepped onboard. He pulled another lever. The gears crankily turned as the doors closed and we began our ascent. Zenara and I sat together while the gondola climbed lazily toward the rocky ceiling.

"Oh, about your question; Grodmoor detests the skaven language. He finds it requires an unnecessary amount of time to convey what one wishes to speak. He adopted your language and made it the official spoken word of this empire. He deemed it important also for you and humanity as a whole. He thought an environment that was alienating to you and your species would make it hard for relations to form. Does that make sense?"

I agreed. "Yes, yes it does. He has gone to great lengths to help me. I do not know what to make of that."

I looked off into the city below as it grew smaller and smaller beneath us. Off to my right side was one of the many mushrooms that grew throughout the cavern. This one dwarfed most if not all the structures below.

"My suggestion for you would be to make the best of it. You are far removed from your world you once knew. This has been a tough journey for you but there are many things here that can lesson the burden. And once this has concluded, you may go where you see fit. If you wish to return to your people, we will not hold you back." She looked reassuringly at me. Her eyes never wavered. They spoke of honesty without one word.  
"I sometimes wonder if my people would even have me back." I pondered on the reality of the situation.

Zenara looked at me. Her face twitched. "Whatever happens, you may stay with us. That choice will be yours to make."

Zenara was undoubtedly the best choice for Grodmoor as his defacto second in command. She was able to convince someone such as myself to rally with them. There is an aura behind her, something that inspires others to come together. I cannot point my finger to it but it is there. She is an inspiring presence.

The noise of the lift was the only thing that dulled the silence up here. I never thought being underground would be a scenic destination. I was proven wrong while watching the glowing blue light of the mushrooms cradling the surrounding city and give it that calming glow.

The gondola came to a stop and seated itself into the base of the platform. The doors opened. It was time to go. The city was no longer within view. Below us, hanging over the ledge was a massive underground lake. The skaven far below were building dams and lakes to presumably divert the water to the city.

A few armored guards waited outside of the doors. Zenara strode past them. They bowed their subservient heads low. I followed with her until we came to an intersection.

On the right side the pathway opened into a wide cavern with guard towers and walls blockading whatever hung around on the other side. At the center of the wall was a gate. Above it on either side were two quad barreled gatling guns manned by two skaven guards disinterested with their boring jobs. On the other side was a pathway that led upward. To where, I could not say.

"I've got a surprise for you, Thavan. Instead of passing through the gate, let's head up this pathway. It is a physical task but I promise you won't regret it."

"Alright." I said. "I'll bite. Lead the way."

Silence encompassed us as we followed the alternative path to the surface. The stairs leading upward were in disarray. Parts of the rock were broken and debris lay scattered along the ground. Those who designed this tunnel were acting in haste. It was cramped and the incline was steep, but nothing I couldn't handle.

It wasn't long until we came to the end. Zenara gripped the ceiling of rock and requested I aid her. Together, we pushed the sliding wall of rock aside and ushered in a blinding display of unbearably bright light.

As the rock slid from my grasp, I stumbled forward and fell on my knees. Zenara, gripped my back but her fingertips slid through the fabric of my clothing and she too lost her balance and fell with me. My hands caught myself as I landed on the ground. An old familiar feeling ran between my fingers. Soft and thin. The ends tickled my skin. Grass!

At first I kept my eyes shut. The blinding glare of sunlight was too much, but as the seconds passed on, I could squint but only make out a blurry mess of nothingness.

"Thavan, I am deeply sorry. The thought never crossed my mind. I..I wouldn't have...I..."  
I shook my head. "It's fine. Nobodies hurt, all is well. Just give me a moment to adjust."

My eyes had adapted to the low light conditions of the caverns. For so many years I called the underground my home. It is no wonder I cannot see. In the absence of light darkness became my constant.

Within my blurry field of vision I tried to stand and grip something for support. Upon reaching outward my hands felt the soft fabric of Zenara's robes. I tugged on it without thinking as she fell backwards and I tumbled forward. Zenara exhaled a deep breath and gasped. As my eyes focused and I realized what my hand was grasping, I froze.

I reluctantly hovered over Zenara as my left hand lay cupping her right breast. She lay on her back in the grass with her hair sprawled out along the greenery. Zenara's horns glistened in the sunlight as her blue eyes watched my every move. Her lips were partially ajar, moist, and ready to be touched.

"Zenara I...I'm sorry. That was...was unintentional." My words were failing me they were spoken in a stutter.

I retracted my hand and stood. Zenara helped herself up and patted her clothing, knocking down grass and dirt that coated her back. "Don't worry, accidents happen. Turn around and see what is waiting for you." She spoke with disappointment coating her words. Could it be...or could I be so blind?

I tucked that thought aside and did as she suggested. Once I turned to face what lay beyond, my eyes explained better than what words could ever detail.

The hole in the earth opened into a large hillside dipping downward toward a massive valley below. Streams and rivers snaked down the multiple rolling hills and fed into a deep and spacious lake while bright yellow and blue flowers blossomed and swayed lazily to an oncoming breeze.

Beyond the valley stretching to the edge of my field of view was but another beautiful spectacle. A titanic mountain, snow-capped and higher than many of the clouds in sight, held a lone vigil over the land around us. Almost as if it were overlooking the valley. A caretaker if you would.

For the first time in many years, the rays of the sun touched my bare flesh. A foreign yet unforgettable feeling. So much time has passed since I felt such a minuscule joy. Is it true that absence makes the heart grow fonder? I'd say so. Life's simple treasures that we take for granted are so easily forgotten. That is, until it is plucked from our grasp.

Just as the ground below, the sky offered beauty in its own right. The light blue colors of the sky contrasted perfectly to the cotton colored puffy clouds. The sun had just reached its zenith, shining bright light across the land.

I fell to my knees, clenched my fist and smiled to the heavens above. A wet feeling traced down my cheeks as Zenara sat down beside me. It was only then had I realized I wept. I cried like a child. The most troubling piece of it all is these were tears of joy and sadness. For the first time in many years feelings that were once dormant, crept onto the surface.

Since I was recruited into the Cult of Sigmar, I was always taught to hide ones feelings for it revealed a weakness that others may capitalize on. That would not happen today. I refuse.

"All this time wasted. All this killing and training and slaughter and for what? To hold out but another day on a planet that revels in chaos? So many good men have been lost along the way. So much time spent in that hellish dungeon and yet I am the one still here. I can name all those before me who deserved this spot yet somebody or something has kept me going through all this and I don't know why. Isn't it saddening that the people who do not abuse me mentally or physically are the ones I push away the hardest? I want to stop hurting, Zenara. I want to feel like a normal person but goddammit I don't know how! I don't know who I am anymore."

Tears poured from my eyes as my weeping face stared at her for answers. What I sought is not what I received. I saw something else as we stared at one another. She was hurting for me. She cared. A shimmer of liquid residue shined from her eyes as tears formed and fell down her cheeks. "It pains me so deeply to see you like this, Thavan. I want to help you..."

Zenara tenderly reached for my hand. Her emotions got the better of her as reason flew to the wayside. It wasn't until her hand was entrenched in mine had she realized what she committed to. Her eyes widened and she expected retaliation as I had verbally lashed out at her before for doing the same thing.

She quickly retracted her hand and began to speak but I stopped her. "Wait...please. If just this once, don't let go."

That was all the motivation she needed. Zenara gently placed her hand upon my face and wiped the tears from my eyes. Shortly after, we found our hands together once again.

My emotions carried me over the edge. I couldn't handle it any longer as I pulled Zenara forward and embraced her. Her body tensed as she yelped at the shock of what I had done. In a matter of moments, she eased into it and breathed warm breaths that gently traced my neck. We stayed like that, hugging each other as tears were shared between the two of us. The sweet scent of lilac and perfume danced across the air from her clean locks of hair.

My other hand found its way into hers. Just as they touched, Zenara squealed and popped her head down. I quickly stopped and looked at what I had done. Stupid me. Her hand was still injured from the battle we were in.

"I'm sorry, that was stupid of me." My words stammered out like a tide but she wasn't mad.

She raised the bandaged and gauze covered hand to both of our faces. "This is my fault. I have to change these wraps periodically to stymie the spread of infection. I need to apply a new dosage of medicine which I just happen to have stashed away in these here robes. I was long overdue for a change."

I perked up at the prospect of aiding her. "May I do it? It is the least I can do after hurting you."

"You sure? I can do it. This isn't your burden." She tried to reassure me but I wasn't hearing any of it.

"Let me care for you as you cared for me."

I scooted closer to her as she pulled out items rolled in a cloth wrap. She spread the wrap over the grass, revealing fresh gauze and antiseptic.

"Alright Doctor Vanamar, you win. Treat me." Her gentle smile turned into a coy grin. Well that settles it. No backing down now.

I placed my witch hunter hat on the ground and removed my gloves, revealing my pale flesh. I gently pulled the arm of her robe upwards, running it to her elbow. With a light touch, I undid the binding of gauze wrapping her hand and fingers together.

Underneath there was the undeniable aroma of diseased flesh masked by perfume and other unnatural means to hide the stench. Her eyes turned from my gaze. She was embarrassed. Living in squalor as long as I had meant things of this nature no longer phased me.

The final layer of gauze fell through. The sight of her hand sent pangs of sadness riveting through my core. Light amounts of puss and blood oozed from slowly healing open sores. It's been weeks since the injury but chaos magic is a fickle daemon. The situation could have been much worse. Even the skin color changed to a light green around the sores as opposed to her natural whitish skin tone on her hand.

When compared to the first day she was stricken with that affliction, things had improved substantially. In time it would all be gone and the pain would be but a memory.

I gripped her wrist and held it in a light but firm grip. My fingers twisted off the cork to the medicine. I discarded it and gripped the bottle in my hand. A gentle tilt allowed the contents to pour upon her tainted flesh. The flesh lightened and the blood and puss all but stopped.

"I'm grateful I didn't lose this appendage. Damn that plague priest. My incompetence is what allowed this to happen."

"We all make mistakes. I am all too familiar with that truth." I chimed in while placing dried up healing herbs in the holes of the wounds. They'd cleanse the flesh further and fight off infection.

In no time, I began wrapping her hand within the gauze. A snug but firm fit was assured. "Once you cleanse it again, it looks like you'll be as good as new."

"You know, you're a lot more tender when you let your guard down, Thavan. I like that."

I watched her, truly examining every detail. From the shimmer of wetness from her blue and black eyes to the way her hair swayed against the gusts of wind, she was incomparable...I just...

Something happened to me that day as I sat beneath the warming rays of the sun beside Zenara. For better or worse, things were going to change between us.

* * *

 **Howdy everyone! Excuse my delays at uploading. I have been working 6 days a week for the past month and a half and now I am currently in the process of transitioning to a new job. Things have been hectic on my end and I am sorry I have not been able to come out with more chapters sooner. But, I am still working diligently even with my lack of sleep beating me relentlessly. I love this story and I want to see it come to fruition. Thank you for your patience. Stay blessed and be safe :)**


	7. Chapter 6

Of Atonement And Salvation: The End Times

Chapter 6

The Final Piece To An Unstable Puzzle

Grodmoor walked up a flight of stars that would inevitably lead to what he had planned all along. A meeting he had crafted in secrecy. A handful of the Lords of Decay agreed to convene on the outskirts of Skavenblight. A neutral ground to parley. Yet, Lord Grodmoor was no fool. He knew the risks involved.

Several prominent members of skavendom society loathed his presence and deemed it necessary to see his clan come to an end. The same can be said for the Lords of Decay. The majority if not all, detested his existence and hired Eshin assassins to dispatch the outsider. And not once did a killing blow ever come to be. He continued to persist while those whom he earned the ire of sighed begrudgingly over wasted funds.

Grodmoor turned around as Feefee followed after him up the stairwell. The outline of skavenblight loomed far off in the distance surrounded by a film of green smog. Lights flickered while monstrous creatures wailed in the distance.

He detested this filthy abomination of a capital city. His people were to build a great empire. In his eyes this was no empire. It was nothing more than a cesspool of degeneracy. A rubbish heap surrounded by waterways and lakes filled with brackish water and toxic chemicals. These bodies of water were so foul, surface dwellers deaths were guaranteed just from one whiff of the miasma.

Grodmoor noticed the many towers in the distance, hanging lopsidedly and ready to collapse at any point in time. He could discern multiple layers of ropes stretching from the floor and all the way up past the towers. They were attached to giant glowing censers filled with warpstone. A gift granted by Clan Pestilens.

His eyes skimmed across the city until he could no longer watch. His features were masked but inside he was seething. The day to mark the end of skavenblight will come. Soon. And once it did, he'd reign in the other clans. They'd learn to live under a new banner or die.

Feefee stood beside the towering skaven leader and shivered. She feared the other skaven clans and rightfully so. If the Grey Seers were to get their grimy paws upon her, she'd be turned. Feefee shuddered at the thought but cast it aside. Although she preferred the safe tranquility at the Clan Grozen stronghold, she knew this day would come and her master needed her for this moment.

Her eyes batted as she examined her lord. Grodmoor wore his usual garb of clothing interspersed with layers of armor. Now that he was away from his kingdom, extra protection was in order as not only chainmail covered him but also thick layers of plate fastened by straps. The clan Grozen triangle and the skull along with a fine coat of paint flashed across his breastplate. A symbol that earned the ire of many.

Feefee wore nothing of the sort when one compared the two. She stood with robes draped around her black fur. These loose fitting garments were similar to the black robes of an eshin assassin twice her size. Even her sleeves were several inches longer than the tips of her fingers. And so, because of that, the sleeves dangled down past her hands. She almost looked like a child in such over-sized clothing. As they walked to the top of the stairs Feefee had to lift the bottoms of her robes off the ground lest she trip.

She knew what was to come to pass on this day. Lord Grodmoor needed her for this one instance against the other skaven clans and she intended to please her leader no matter how much it embarrassed her. Her chance to help contain The End Times meant everything to her.

A few stormvermin guards watched Grodmoor and his ally come to the front door. An iron bar kept it locked and unwanted scum out. As they realized who was there, they raised the bar and opened the door. Both entered as the door closed shut behind them.

All along the walls on either side were a guard separated every couple feet. All of them stood erect and at attention with their halberds pointed straight and held by one hand. They were more like statues than soldiers, Grodmoor noted while they walked down the long hallway.

At the end stood two heavily armored and armed skaven honor guards coated in royal accents of red and black. The color of Clan Mors. Fins in the shape of a mohawk ran from the tops of their helmets down to their backs. Without so much as glancing at the two, each guard used their free hands to open the doors and allow them entry.

Within these closely guarded walls there sat a round-table with many guests already seated around it. Their chittering stopped only for a moment. Some paused to gaze upon the black sheep in the room. They knew if the grey seers were privy to their machinations, heads would roll. And yet, the chance for scheming and opportunity would never be ignored.

Surrounding the skaven and illuminating them in a caustic green glow were bronze basins bleeding green warpfire and standing upon poles stationed throughout the room.

Grodmoor looked upward and saw many ceiling beams stretching beyond his line of sight into blackness. Even though the skaven were naturally gifted with excellent vision in dark conditions, Grodmoor could not make out all the nooks and crannies where one might hide.

"After all this time, you've finally shown yourself. Years have come and gone and many suspected you might be dead. I knew better. I knew someone such as yourself would never fall silently." A voice called out from the room but from where, Grodmoor could not verify.

Gnawdwell revealed himself from around a pillar, standing roughly the same height as Grodmoor himself. This was the leader of Clan Mors, the fastest growing skaven clan in all of skavendom.

Unlike the other skaven, Gnawdwell came dressed for war as he always had. The heaviest of plate and male covered all but his face. Spikes jutted out from the armor on his back. The skulls of humans, dwarfs, and daemons were impaled upon the spikes and detailed his many trophies throughout his days of bloodshed and conflict.

"The most illusive and hated of them all, Grodmoor of Clan Grozen. Would you be so kind as to tell our guest's what is the exact number of assassination attempts upon your life?" The skaven grumbled words through gritted teeth.

"Nine thousand one hundred twen..." Grodmoor quieted.

The creaking in the rafters forced him to pause and listen. His ears twitched and he focused on the noise. Assassin!

The glint of steel coated in poison traveled through the air like an arrow, but this was no arrow and that weapon was carried by his would be killer. The hooded figure pounced for the kill. His action's were swift. It is unfortunate for him, he did not know his target well enough.

Grodmoor deflected the blade right before it pierced his heart and squeezed the assassin's wrist so tightly the bones fractured and the dagger fell to the floor. To the assassin's credit he had not made a noise as he stared at his target with beady, violent intent. Feefee screamed. Horrified and shaking, she backed away from her master.

Grodmoor's punishment came swiftly. He grabbed the assassin by the neck and clamped downward until his assassins eye's bulged from their sockets. His other hand gripped the skaven's thigh and drove the assassin downward. Grodmoor bent his kneecap forward and up. The assassin's spinal cord met the armored plate of his knee. The results were, well, unsatisfactory for his foe. The vertabae popped and split in two. It uttered no sound, no death whimper as it lay limp in his arm's and wilted like a flower plucked from its source. The pathetic whelp slackened in his grasp as Grodmoor launched the corpse to the ground. It flung against the floor and rolled into a crunchy thud.

Grodmoor turned to Gnawdwell. "Nine thousand one hundred twenty four. Which one of you hired the Eshin Assassin? They were bound to know of this meeting. Anything that transpires in skavendom goes unnoticed by those who bide by the cloak and dagger." Grodmoor appeared irritated but had not let them get the best of him.

"You've earned the hatred and fury of the Grey Seers along with multiple other clans vying for dominance in skaven politics. It is to be expected. Now come, sit and let us discuss."

Gnawdwell walked forward and took a seat at the head of the table. He signaled for the other two to do so.

Grodmoor wasn't buying his attempt at honesty. No results would be obtained from a petty argument. He had a commitment and he must follow through.

The two honor guards from outside of the hall quickly entered and hastily disposed of the body and weapon.

"Now then, I shall introduce those in attendance; to my left is Morskittar Lord Warlock of Clan Skryre."

Morskittar acknowledged his words with a nod of his head. The skaven wore two layers of clothing. The inner layer was a suit of fully enclosed armor. It was not so far removed from Ziv's but had more advancements and details. The outer layer were ornate robes detailed with warpstone etchings and engravings.

"Beside Morskittar is the dedicated and mighty Paskrit Warlord General of all Skavendom."

Paskrit raised his hand and nodded hastily. He wanted the focus diverted to another skaven who reveled in the attention. Suspicious, considering the many trophies and accommodations decorating his breastplate. The design of his helmet differed considerably from the others as well. Multiple spikes drove out the back of the helm and curved in every direction. One would say it resembled something more akin to the chaos and not the skaven armor-smiths.

"Seated at your right flank, Grodmoor, is Hiskrin of Clan Morbidus. This brown furred skaven has just recently ascended into the leadership position after single handedly decapitating the former ruler in a duel. A noteworthy mention."

Hiskrin grimaced and rammed his armored hands on the table. The gauntlets clinked against the stone while the skaven growled his disdain toward The Clan Mors Lord.

"Spare me your theatrics, Gnawdwell. The others might fancy your introductions, but I do not. Whenever the chance exists you proclaim to all those within earshot how I ascended, a mere brown fur. I challenged my clan leader on equal ground and came out victorious. If you, or the rest of those black furs dare bring up what I have accomplished one more time, I'll rip your insolent tongue from your mouth!" Spat a furious Hiskrin.

Hiskrin was indeed a brown fur. This invoked disgust from his fellow lords. Never in the known history of the skaven world had a mere brown fur ascended the ranks to become a Lord of Decay. That honor was always relegated to those born with black fur. They were nurtured and trained by those who deemed them worthy. And in turn, they would grab the reigns and steer the skaven society toward a violent future as it would be foretold by the Grey Seers.

Hiskrin defied those odds and came out an embittered and furious skaven with a short temper. A short temper aimed towards those who viewed his merits upon his fur and not what he has accomplished for Morbidus.

He knew where he would be were it not for his determination. Those whom varied from grey to black fur were unfit for leadership roles and relegated to slavery. Or worse, food.

The clothing he arrived in differed considerably from the rest. He wore a breastplate overlapping layers of mail. Covering both were royal black and purple robes. Spiked shoulder guards, boots, and a helm added a flair that looked more like a barbarian from Norsca than a skaven. It was true, he had custom armor designed to look different from his own species. A species he detested more and more with each passing day.

Hiskrin kicked his feet against the floor and picked at a tooth with his gauntlet while Gnawdwell continued, "Had this meeting not taken precedence over your outburst, I'd gladly oblige the opportunity to crush one of lesser stock. Alas, circumstances..."

He raised his hands and grinned mischievously, egging the irate skaven onward. The Morbidus leader bit his tongue and held back. He must, for what Grodmoor offered intrigued him far more than what that bastard of Clan Mors had to say.

"...Well then, to your left, Grodmoor is Skron leader of Clan Vhenorook."

"Yes-yes. Uttered a much higher pitched squeaky tone coming from Skron himself. A voice that offered little in the way of intimidation. "Finish this damned announcement before I die of old age by god."

Gnawdwell smiled a maw full of dirty, stained red teeth. "Irritable as always, Skron."

The skaven huffed a steamy mass of hot air from his nostrils. Gnawdwell continued onward. " And finally, rounding out this particularly colorful assortment is Visseek of Clan Carrion."

The one eyed skaven nodded its head and began coughing violently into a handkerchief. It wore an eye patch and hardened leather armor. Lightweight and easy to move in.

"At the unrelenting behest of Grodmoor, I have gathered us today to ascertain whether what he claims is factual or is in fact a lie. You may be the judge on this matter. You must have a good reason to come to Skavendom, Grodmoor. You're an unwelcome sight in this city. And a ghost, if I may?" Gnawdwell's gravelly tone was as unwelcome as his words.

Grodmoor sat forward while Feefee stood behind him. He raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Were it not for what I have in my breast pocket I would not be here. I detest this city as much as its inhabitants loathe me. Hearken my words and listen closely; your grey seers have signed a triple pact between themselves Clan Pestilens and the forces of Chaos. They intend to strike a deal with the followers of Nurgle. I have the signature from Seerlord Kritislik and Arch Plaguelord Nurglitch of Pestilens. I come bearing truth. So, many of you have declared me as your enemy, but why? I do not dabble in secrecy and backstabbing antics. From the beginning I sought a united skaven empire untouched by the taint of Pestilens or the lies of the Order of The Grey Seers and their false religion."

Visseek stood and screeched, pointing his clawed nails at Grodmoor. "Blasphemy! You utter blasphemy! It is all you have done from the beginning! This is the founding reason why warlord clans nor the great clans identify with you! You are a heretic!"

Grodmoor cocked his head sideways. "What's worse hmmmm, following a deity that is inherently evil in all respects and cares not for its own people? Or those who are subordinate to Clan Pestilens who offer nothing but disease and corruption in their wake? You cling to their beck and call. Who's the fool here? Who should not be taken serious? Your great horned rat cares not for you, me or anyone but its own selfish gains. I will not be a slave to a god that revels in complete annihilation."

Morskittar chuckled deeply while Hiskrin applauded the underdog. They were alike in many ways, hated and despised. Visseek on the other hand wasn't amused. He kicked his chair out and strode toward Grodmoor. The Grozen lord welcomed the challenge as he stood and towered over the one eyed skaven.

"You will be punished for this heresy! You will!"droplets of chunky phlegm trailed down Visseek's chin.

"Do as your horned rat commands, give me the opportunity to take your other eye. Your head will make a fine trophy upon my wall, vermin." Grodmoor waited for his enemies first move.

The skaven's words burrowed beneath his skin and flared his temper. Nevertheless, he would not allow him to control his actions. One move and it would all be over before the others could stop him.

Gnawdwell became irate as his fist slammed onto the table. The eyes of all those in attendance turned. "This is a meeting! There will be no bloodshed in this neutral territory! Now back down, both of you!"

Grodmoor accepted his demand, albeit begrudgingly. The chance to kill a Lord of Decay was undoubtedly a worthy opportunity to prove himself among his so called peers. In time.

The Clan Carrion lord grumbled and complied. He returned to his chair without one spoken word.

Gnawdwell placed his hands outward, gesturing to Grodmoor. "Now, if you will, show us the proof you claim exists."

Grodmoor reached into his coat and retrieved a thick piece of parchment. He flicked it onto the table. "There. Pass it around. This is what you seek."

Time appeared to come to a standstill while Grodmoor watched over all of them as they examined the truth. Even the Carrion Lord had glanced over it. When the final lord had seen his fill, Grodmoor waited for one of them to break the ice.

Gnawdwell was the first to speak. "This evidence is damming. Those are the seals of both order and clan. And that is their respective signatures. Most interesting. This alters the power balance in many ways."

Morskittar placed his hands on the table. His eyes looked from the parchment to Gnawdwell. "They grow in strength while we wain. Perhaps The Order favors Pestilens and this is but the start of another civil war? This secret treaty will grant them the numbers they so desperately need. They will have the upper hand and their ultimate goal will be within reach. This spells doom for us all."

Some agreed while others kept their opinions to themselves.

Grodmoor popped his neck and looked to each of them. "There is more for those naysayers who condemn me based upon my beliefs alone. Your Grey Seers, your most sacred leaders of the Great Horned Rat have lied to you. All of those before me and many generations prior were born in a lie. I'm more than certain each one of you are familiar with the brood mothers. They sequestered them away while hiding behind a foundation of deception. Our females are not like them. Those brood mothers are abominations altered by warpstone. Would you believe me if I told you our females are similar in height and weight to us, not those bloated corpses kept alive by drugs and hallucinogens, permanently living within a lucid state? My assistant behind me will show you only truth. She will open your eyes."

"She?" Questioned Gnawdwell.

Grodmoor said one word. "Feefee."

She stepped forward. "As you wish my Lord."

Feefee leaped onto the round table gracefully. Her small feet pitter pattered on the rocky ground until she stopped dead center. All heads turned to the robed skaven.

Her arms scooted out from the armholes of her robes until the fabric loosely draped over her shoulders. She lowered her hood and watched as those in attendance gawked at her features. Softer fur and gentler characteristics differed greatly from the males of her species. Longer eye lashes hinted at the growing list of differences but the one that caught the males off by surprise were the long locks of black hair trailing below her shoulder and back.

Feefee turned around and watched them through her spectacles which hung a few inches from her face. She flushed with embarrassment as she tugged on the fabric of her robes and allowed them to fall on the floor.

Average sized mounds protruded out from her chest. Pink areola and swollen nipples budded from her breasts. Two small islands surrounding a sea of black fur. This cold air only made matters worse for her. Feefee's nipples were hard as warpstone.

A few gawked, visually puzzled by this revelation while others preyed upon her with eyes glazed over in perversion. Tongues lapped at hungry lips and undergarments strained against the pulse of blood engorged phallic objects.

Feefee's legs were firmly planted together. Her embarrassment and vulnerability was heightened as some of them ogled over her as if she were a piece of meat. This lecherous hazy cloud that covered her almost stopped the skaven from going further. She was a loyalist to Grozen. Feefee was already this far and she intended to continue forward for she knew there was no turning back now. Feefee parted her legs, revealing her most delicate secret.

Beneath tufts of gentle downy like fur, situated between her wide breeding thighs were the delicate and moist lips of her reproductive organ and the small pink bud of her clit. She begrudgingly granted the groveling mass of lords the insight into the hidden reality of their upside down world. As if on cue, her cunny spread open. A dollop of dew straight from that pinkish, quivering hole of her womanhood dripped from its home and landed on the table.

Some watched her, raping her with their eyes. Others were so profoundly lost on the reality of it all they sat quietly at their end of the table, seeking validation to their life of deceit.

"So it's true." Uttered Paskrit. "I've remained silent throughout this hearing long enough. I will not make a decision on 'who' I side with just yet. With that said, Pestilens and the seers must be put in check if their intentions hold true. I do not doubt Pestilens would go to such lengths. They've always wanted to conquer and rule over us. If not today, then tomorrow."

"Indeed." Agreed Morskittar. "But tell us, Lord Grodmoor, what is your angle beyond this? What do you hope to gain? Do not tell me it's concerning this doomsday clock you refer to as The End Times."

Grodmoor refrained from enlightening the skaven upon his ignorance. It would only lead to a long winded discussion that neither side would come to terms with. He stated his case right then and there. "That is precisely my angle. I have no desire to rule over a city of disease and decay. My focus is dedicated to our future as a species. How can we hope to rule over a planet if all life is dead? Whether any one of you see it or not, The End Times are upon us. My goal is to form an united skaven empire with the goal of beheading this chaos threat before our world is consumed. And even if it is nothing more than a conspiracy, shouldn't we have a standing army at the ready?"

Grodmoor half expected nobody to respond or those that did would mock the skaven Lord. The majority of the lords were bullheaded and self centered. Grodmoor knew this. Even they knew this. Ultimately, he needed allies. And so, when Morskittar of Clan Skryre spoke, Grodmoor listened.

"Your clan is insignificant in comparison to the great clans. Let us say that you are right, The End Times are nigh, your numbers will barely scratch the surface of this great war. I've heard stories that my ex engineers find work within your thrall, incorporating their fantastic minds to my craft and reign in my technology. You allow them to go unshackled. This is important to me as my clan and myself are throttled by sanctions under the Grey Seers. What say I absorb you and your people? Then I'll have the numbers we need."

Grodmoor looked over the mechanical skaven and laughed a deep throaty gurgle that sent chills down the unsuspecting. "That will never happen my foolish Lord of Skryre. I have spent years preparing for this day. I have invested my life to this phenomenon. No skaven within these walls will muscle me out of my creation. I have fail-safes in order should that day come. Should any one of you rats strong-arm me, I can assure you it will end with your clan shattered. I will come down upon you with hellfire and brimstone so great your empire will crumble and you will be absorbed by one stronger than yourself. I will burn all you hold dear. Grozen will smash your people like a great hammer from the sky plummeting into this world with such magnitude those of whom who sit within this room have never seen before in their puny lives. I will destroy all you hold dear and my entire clan before your filthy paws grasp what I spent decades perfecting!"

Hiskrin stood and looked to Grodmoor. "From Henceforth Clan Morbidus will ally with Grozen. It behooves me to rally under those who have my interests at heart."

Visseek of Clan Carrion snarled. "Liar! I watched the way your eyes stared at her in wanton desire. Your tongue lapped at your muzzle in great fantasies. You'd sell your own kind for tail!"

Hiskrin looked at Feefee standing on the table with her genitals exposed. He glanced over the female skaven one final time and then his gaze reverted to the rather ugly Visseek. "Indeed, I would."

Hiskrin turned to Grodmoor. "Is it true that the status of fur matters not in your army?"

Grodmoor popped his knuckles and cooled down from long winded spurt. "I concern myself with merit and merit alone. If ones skills far exceed those born with midnight fur, then said individual will find themselves straddling a place of recognition within my empire. Our species is headed toward total war. If those who sit before me choose to turn a blind eye to that which awaits them, then you may. That is your prerogative. But you will be trampled aside when the time comes. The time for discourse is at an end."

Skron found the damming parchment sitting close by upon the table. Once again he gripped it and perused over the details one final time. "Before I make any rash decisions, I'd like to see a recent signature of Kritislik and Nurglitch. Is it possible one of your men can grant this wish for me, Gnawdwell? I have no intentions on making my bed with anyone residing within these walls until I am fully convinced. I must know if this is a forgery."

Gnawdwell stood. "That seal alone should confirm your suspicions. Nobody within skavendom has access to that besides their respective clans. But, if you insist, I will send my agents into the field to scour for an article to cross reference with this piece. I may need to contact Eshin. This will take some time. For now, our meeting will cross over into recess. Nobody is to leave this building, including myself. I'll have food and drink brought up shortly. Until then, we wait."

Grodmoor leaned against his chair for support. This was going to take as long as he imagined. If the results were acceptable, then he'd gladly wait. His thoughts drifted from his current predicament to the place he called home. He wondered how the newest edition of Clan Grozen was faring?

# # # #

(Thavan Vanamar – Location – Streets of Grozen – Time – (04/12/2519)

Walking through the cities streets with no end in sight is not what I originally intended. The winding sidewalk of a lonely and empty street only heightened my sense of isolation. The pattering of my feet against the stony ground were the only sounds I could discern. I planned on living within the city. My goals were considerably harder to achieve than I thought they'd be. Most of the skaven were leery of myself and since I had no form of income currently, the option of staying at an inn was nigh impossible. I instead chose to remain at the castle currently. Zenara suggested Ziv but I had no point of reference on where he lived. I realize now it may have been wise to confirm his whereabouts before wandering aimlessly. I'd ask her, yet the thought of constantly relying on others left a sour taste in my mouth. I would find a way.

I believed I owed it to myself to place importance upon this skaven clan. If this alliance is to survive, then I must come to understand them. These skaven were not the monsters I originally envisioned the species to be. Even a lowly citizen offered me greater reverence than my own people. Sure, some chose to limit their interactions with me. Or perhaps they were blunt in their tone, none of that changed the fact they were better to me than my own species.

All of these things puzzled my brain. The skaven of Grozen were not so different from my own species. Their way of life and their mannerisms were not so far removed from humanity. Could it be that my little game I was playing was nothing more than a means to become accepted within this growing empire? These thoughts troubled my mind greater than anybody would know.

From the beginning of my life till now, I was isolated from society. My people evaded me. Within my warped psyche I believed this to be the norm.

Everything changed when I met Zenara. She was my rock in the coming storm. She was my shoulder to lean on when my thoughts overwhelmed me. But most of all, when I was nothing but a sick, pathetic, dying man, she nursed me back to health and saved my life. I owed everything to her. And as I walked down that empty street, I wondered how could I ever return the favor?

As I drew deeper within the city I observed a few farmers tending to crops. In relation to where we currently reside, I found such a thought to be preposterous. Plants grown without the loving caress of the sun were impossible, weren't they?

Fungi and strange oblong shaped glowing fruit were planted within shallow soil. The farmer held a watering can in his hand and dumped a copious amount upon his crops.

Further beyond, I witnessed a handful of guards stationed throughout the city at different checkpoints. Many of them were quite obviously tired from working a long shift. Standing guard at a stationary position would be my last pick given the opportunity of choice.

I've been adamant about my views concerning the skaven for many months now. And yet, once again my thoughts on the matter would alter once more as I neared a small flowing stream with 4 female skaven tending to several loads of laundry. One of them offered to clean my clothing for me with no price attached. Such a simple and kind gesture. I politely declined of course and carried on.

Maybe it was time to finally give them a chance? Not just Zenara, but everyone within this clan. They offered me the benefit of the doubt, shouldn't I? Could it be that all along humanities greatest weakness stemmed not from their enemies but from those who'd lend a hand and we'd turn a blind eye? These thoughts and the repercussions involved, plagued my conscience.

I wandered aimlessly for a time until I realized how far away I had gotten from the castles grounds. I was standing deep within the bowls of the city. Beyond in the foreground straddled into the bedrock was a large glowing mushroom. Its blue hue illuminated me for nearly every source of light was extinguished by now. Torches glowed faintly as the last embers burned away. Those few who evaded the embrace of sleep were heading off to bed. So should I. Alas, a sharp crack in the distance compelled me forward and to see what lurked beyond.

As I moved through the streets of the Grozen capital, the sounds grew louder until the telltale sign of yelling and laughter echoed distinctly through the cities streets. Secretly, I knew it be best to turn around and move on. Snooping was not like me but the sudden commotion heightened my need to know.

Upon coming to an intersection, I listened further on where the cheering originated. I walked across the street and turned right, heading even further from the protection of the castle into unknown territory. The jeering crowd was infectious and drove my curiosity onward.

I passed around another corner and turned to face the glowing warmth of a tavern. Its entrance a mere couple meters from where I stood. A large wooden sign crested over the front door of the establishment. The image depicted two skaven clinking together two flagons of ale in joyful camaraderie.

A set of torches straddled atop poles along either side of the entrance emitted a welcoming aura and glow to my tired countenance. Even a glass of water would aid my parched throat. Is it polite to intrude on them? Would they see it as that? I am an outsider after all. I was only curious. A quick glance within would contain my curiosity and then I'd be on my way. There's no harm in that, right?

I stepped forward, nearing the entrance to the tavern. The large wooden door was propped open. It had seen some wear and tear over the past couple years. A crack in the center of the frame told the tale of a long forgotten fist meant for flesh. Whoever threw that punch would forget by morning as the haze of a drunken stupor let off. Liquor and arguments never went hand in hand but the pain they left behind was unavoidable. This was something I kept close to my heart. Alcohol never solved my problems. They only made them worse.

The pace of my heart quickened. I'd never been one for large gatherings. The rambunctious nature of crowds made me uncomfortable. Yet within that tavern their joyous banter and cheerful attitudes forced myself to cast aside my own fears out of my own inquisitiveness.

Before I could take a step back, my eyes peeked through the opening and stared within. I was nothing short of astounded. There were no less than thirty of them gathered around a great many tables. Some were downing shots on bar stools at the front counter. Others were sipping strong brands of whiskey on ice. The vast majority were drinking foaming flagons of ale.

A small group of skaven bar-maidens scurried throughout the building with drink and food in hand. Their clothing seemed to be a size too small for their bodies as their ample bosoms strained against the fabric, aching to burst free. Each shirt hung low against their breasts granting the watchful eye a sight of more cleavage than one could ask for.

The owner of the bar, a grizzled older skaven with flecks of grey coating his muzzle stood next to a group of burly off duty guards looking to whet their appetite. He held a piece of parchment in one hand and a pen in the other, jotting down their order.

As I stood there and watched for an unspecified amount of time, I realized my foot had become numb. The awkward position I held it in ended with that numb feeling as blood flow was constricted. I kicked my foot outward, trying to regain control of my restless appendage. But my focus remained on the crowd and that was my greatest mistake. Several kicks were exerted as I sent my foot into the air multiple times to regain circulation. What I had not foreseen came as a surprise not only to the patrons but myself for my foot came down and landed hard on the first floorboard of that tavern. And it just so happens that that wooden board was the loudest of them all.

The laughing stopped. Every single pair of eyes within looked directly at me. Blood drained from my face. Anxiety crept through the back of my mind and jutted out like that of a monolith, making me feel every ounce weighing down upon me.

Words failed my silent form. That awkward silence only worsened as a person within coughed and made me realize the length of this continuing game. It was a standoff and I had to do something.

"I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I happened to hear the commotion and allowed curiosity to get the best of me. I'll take my leave."

I was just about to turn when a voice called out, "Wait!"

A tall and muscular skaven stood before the crowd. Upon his face a large scar ran from his eyebrow down to his eyelid and ended at the top of his muzzle. He'd seen the rigors of war one too many times.

"I made a full recovery as did the others. The healers discharged myself and those who remained earlier today. It is because of you I can celebrate tonight. Join us, Thavan. The others will welcome you here. They know what you've done for us."

That voice, could it be? "Ziv, is that you?" My words became a hesitant and fearful mess.

The skaven walked past the others and closed the gap between himself and I. "It is true, isn't it yes-yes? This is the first time you have seen me unmasked."

I nodded, confirming my suspicions. The usual attitude I maintained gave way to embarrassment as the others continued to stare.

Ziv reached forward and pulled me into an unsuspecting hug. I yelped in fear and shock. Spontaneous bouts of affection were not something I managed all that well. The soles of my shoes no longer graced the ground before me as I was lifted into the air and met an overly affectionate and alcohol ridden skaven's bear hug. The amount of strength Ziv showed was unbelievable. My bones seemed to shift and pop against his grip. If I could see myself I'd believe I was turning blue. How could I survive?

"You...you can put me down nnnn...now." I breathed through ragged gasps.

Ziv complied and patted me on the shoulder. "All better. Sometimes I forget my own strength."

"Clearly." I stated while nursing my ribs.

Ziv tried to focus elsewhere before his blunder worsened. "You are clan-kin Thavan. I will never forget what you have done for our people. I know-know I can be overbearing but it is because I value you my friend."

I looked downward, unable to stare into the eyes of one who trusts me so deeply. A friend? How can that be? And here I am struggling with the notion of even allowing them within. "I ugh, I don't even have any money." I revealed, trying to back out of this.

"That's it?" Ziv responded deadpan.

He placed his hand on my shoulder and grinned toothily. "Do not concern yourself with such matters yes-yes. You have made nest-burrows with us. You are Grozen. I will cover the tab-bill. Will this suffice?"

The smell of roasted meats and fried potatoes wafted through the air. At that precise moment my belly rumbled. Many hours had passed since I ingested my morning meal. And of course, this is when my stomach tells the truth better than myself.

"Come in, come in! Let's see to it you are welcomed with a warm meal and drink. My treat-treat!"

The threshold of no return came and went as I walked forward and stepped foot into the bar. The patrons turned back to their regular activities.

I followed after Ziv until he pulled up a chair and motioned for me to be seated. Ziv sat across from myself. At the head of the table seated at my right flank was Varron puffing away at a cigar. Thick plumes of smoke billowed around the skaven. Like small clouds they lazily bounced around until they dissipated. Varron nodded to me without uttering a word.

A bar maiden made her way toward the three of us. Her low cut blouse left much to the imagination as ones mind would surely wander at the sight of those massive mammaries she hefted. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a hair tie. She scooped up her black hair and tied it back.

The skaven reached into her apron and flicked out a pamphlet while she twiddled a quill between her index and middle finger.

"What'll it be boys?" Her hoarse voice croaked. Among all the commotion she was sure to strain her voice box to be heard.

Ziv pointed to the panting barmaid. "This is Theesiini. And she's the best maid in all of Grozen."

Judging by her facial expression and the rolling of her eyes, it was relatively clear that she was used to flattery by Ziv.

"Will a day ever come when you do not embarrass me in front of your guests?" Questioned the skaven as she jabbed him playfully in the ribs.

Varron added his two cents whilst playing with a deck of cards and the cigar clenched between his lips, "Won't you two kiss already?"

Theesiini dodged the question entirely. Whether that be out of fear of hurting Ziv's feelings or something else entirely is left up for debate. She turned to me right as I was about to introduce himself.

"I know you-you. All of Grozen have-are buzzing about the untouchable human. Lord Grodmoor's favored. Ally or foe-foe you will-will find your way within this empire. It seems everybody does."

She ground her teeth together and scratched her shoulder lazily. "So what can I getcha?"

Ziv eyed Varron, to which he nodded in return. "Kebabs, soup, sandwiches and a round of shots for us. Put it on my tab."

At the sound of alcohol, I sat forward, alarmed and alert. "Wait, Ziv, I do not intend to drink today. I'll eat then go home."

Ziv glanced at me cockeyed and huffed. "You'll drink with Lord Grodmoor but not with clan members?"

"It's not that. Not in the slightest. Liquor tends to...well it makes me do things I come to regret later."

"Good!" Roared an enthused Ziv. "You consistently focus on combat-killing that you never relax-rest. Are you not allowed respite?"

I found myself ruminating over what he said. Was I really going to go along with this? In secret, my decision was already made. I wasn't going to let him down after how highly he spoke of me.

I rolled my eyes and placed my hands on the table. "Well alright, just a couple then."

Ziv agreed although the snicker that came from that beaming face made it clear it wouldn't be just a few drinks.

"Where are the rest of the pack?" I asked.

"I don't see Teeshna, Neeshi, or Sorn. Even Zenara is missing."

"Well, about that..." Ziv left me hanging. The skaven was clearly dismayed over my words, but why?

"Teeshna and Neeshi train daily. They will not gather-join us for celebrations. Sorn's a loner. He concerns himself with the next mission-objective. Zenara hides away in her nest-burrow at the keep. She studies books detailing ancient forms of magic to end-alter the end times. Its always been just the two of us. Would you start joining us for these gatherings?"

That was a bit of a stretch for me. I cringed at the thought of having to partake in social gatherings on a consistent basis.

"I ugh, I don't know Ziv."

Ziv's eyes did all the talking as they formed into the saddest expression I'd ever seen. How could a big lumbering skaven such as himself be capable of displaying such a pathetic face with wide puppy dog eyes?

"Alright Ziv, please don't start crying. If any future celebrations are to pass, I'll be there."

Ziv's eyes lit up like stars across the night sky. He started to move forward but I was ready this time. I cracked my hand against Ziv's palm and raised my finger at the startled skaven. The vein above my eyebrow twitched. "If you value your fingers I suggest you refrain from hugging me once more." A stern glance and venomous eyes dissuaded Ziv from pressing forward.

He knew to back down but not before adding to our standoff. "And I was going to add how you were the best addition Grozen has ever seen yes-yes."

"And you may without crushing me behind your bear-like grip."

"Ziv, Ziv, come on, lay off the human would you? This is not his element. Respect his wishes." Stated Varron with agitation tainting his words.

"Yes well, mayhap I overstepped my bounds in a few places." Ziv said while scratching the back of his head. The meek appearance the skaven showed had not fit him one bit.

His attitude changed for the better once the female skaven appeared with a wide range of delicacies. Sweat covered her matted fur and shirt. Performing all the duties she resided over kept the bar maiden busy.

When Ziv said we'd have kebabs earlier, I wasn't expecting this; impaled on those sticks were fire roasted rats with their heads still attached. Every bit of fur had been singed off, presumably during the cooking process. Bowls of piping hot soup, cold cuts and flagons of ale and honey mead completed our dinner.

"Ra...rats?" My words echoed in hesitation as I sat forward looking at the 'meal.'

"What's the matter asked Theesiini? Has the soft-soft home in the castle cushioned you from city life?"

"Now, do not take me for a coward. I have eaten unspeakable things while surviving my days within that prison hellscape I called home. Well it's just..." All three of them looked at me for an answer.

"Well, ugh not to be too blunt, but aren't they kinda related to you?"

I took a deep gulp and wiped the sweat from my brow. It was time for backlash.

Their eyes watched me. No words left their mouths as those blank stares pierced me like burning rays of righteous fury. Then again, there was nothing righteous about this as I fidgeted in the chair.

Ziv slapped his leg and howled a mighty laugh. Theesiini cackled along with him. Varron shook his head and looked at his cards.

"If we're related..." Said Ziv while gripping a kabob and biting into the rats head. His incisors tore apart the meat. Through a mouthful of food, Ziv finished his statement, "...then we taste delicious!"

That only served its purpose to heighten their hysteria. Tears welled in their eyes while Ziv nearly choked on his food. From this point moving forward I found it best to disregard the rat to skaven theory.

My hand gripped one of the kebabs seated on a platter before us. I raised the fried rat to my nose and sniffed. Herbs and the scent of oil intermingled with the smell of cooked flesh. My mouth salivated and my stomach rumbled. Even though it was a rat, I didn't care. I was damn hungry and this smelled divine. I've had worse out in the field.

With the piece of food now pressed against my lips I gingerly opened my mouth and gnawed down on its hind quarters. A chunk of meat ripped off along with the bone attached to its leg. As I chewed, the subtle hint of those herbs I smelled and what could only be described as spices touched the tip of my tongue. The flavors and aromas blended surprisingly well with the meat. The taste wasn't close to what I would consider unappetizing. In fact, I'd venture to say it was good. Really good. The others watched me in silence but as my curiosity turned to enjoyment the duo beamed.

In no time I devoured the critter and left a pile of small bones and the stick behind as evidence. Ziv ate his whole, bones and all. I didn't trust my digestive tract enough to make a risky move like that.

As I reached for another one Ziv smiled heartily. "We'll make a fine skaven out of you, yes yes!"

He gripped a mug of honey mead and washed another bite of rat flesh down his gullet. Varron focused on a bowl of soup while drinking something dark and strong. Even from here, the smell could be discerned, and it wasn't light.

Eventually Theesiini brought out a round of shots and passed them out among the three of us. Deep amber fluid swirled in the glass. Each of us gripped our respective drinks and held them out.

Ziv stood. "I'd like to make a toast to our newfound ally within Grozen. Thavan Vanamar is a strong lad who knows how to fight on the battlefield! He just may be our path-route to a pact with the surface dwellers. To all those crowded around here tonight, I'd like to extend a warm welcome to our less furry but capable human. Raise thy drinks to-to Thavan!"

The others cheered my name as all three of us clinked our drinks together. I downed the shot in one go. A strong burn traveled down my throat and settled in my stomach. Moments later it smoothed out into a pleasant finish. No questionable aftertaste. This stuff wasn't cheap but hadn't matched Grodmoor's stock. Maybe just one more shot and then I'll go? Yeah, just one more...

# # # #

Grodmoor watched a highly decorated honor guard enter the room. The skaven male strode toward Gnawdwell with purpose. He reached into his garb and extracted a package. Gnawdwell gripped the item with an iron fist and nodded for his guard to take his leave.

There would be no need to use a blade for the impatient skaven used his clawed nail to slice the packet open and extract a handful of documents. Gnawdwell skimmed over the pages for several seconds.

His eyes peered upward from the pages and eyed those around him with suspicion. They waited in silence for his confirmation. "It's legitimate. Compare the proof among yourselves if you will."

Grodmoor watched over those who had not seen what he knew. He half expected these paranoid power hungry backstabbers to claim yet again what was proven twice is still a fraud. His question would not hang on the air for long.

Morskittar silenced those before him. "I have stated this once and I will state it again, I will not sit idle while they grow in numbers as sanctions are enacted against those under my grasp. Those who bear the mark of Grozen are increasingly looking like the only proper course moving forward. The path toward the future is draped in the blood of those horned bastards. If they refuse to submit then I will blow their entire wretched temple to ruin and destruction. Another civil war is nigh. Mark my words."

Grodmoor was undeniably ecstatic. His barely contained excitement nearly revealed the joy he reveled in. The wheels of war are in motion. The seed of instability planted beneath the Council of Thirteen would be their demise. And by this insanity he would grab the reigns. Those who survived would fall in line or die. This was the only way. Hiskrin was a surprise but a welcome one. He'd be spared a musket to the back of the head...for now.

Skron of Vhenorook leaned against his chair for support, deep in contemplation and inner turmoil. "If war is the great equalizer to our troubles, then one must ask, what will happen to our species? The current means of rule will come to a close. Our clans straddle a very fine line between distrust and warfare. When this comes to pass, our society will teeter on the brink of collapse. This inevitable end will become the catalyst that could very well see the decimation of our great empire."

Skron picked at the underside of his nail, avoiding the eyes of those present. "I feel that this path before us must materialize. Sides will form while entire clans shall be forgotten in the long and bleak annals of skaven society. By the end of all things the skaven as we know it will cease to exist. Unlike Hiskrin, I brace myself against the coming tide before announcing allegiance to anyone. But there is one caveat to this: I must choose."

Skron pointed to one of the Lords of Decay. "Take for example this one: Visseek. Emaciated and sick. Living with patches of fur and fluids oozing from his mouth. Distasteful, chaotic."

His hand then twitched toward the Grozen champion himself. "Healthy with a clean coat and women to boot. On either side of us one of these two skaven may paint a path to the broader picture, our future. One need only to look if they require assurance in their decision. Clan Grozen is our future. If we disregard everything else, then we look to his theory of The End Times. I have no intentions of dying. And if this theory is correct, then we must prepare once this war of succession has concluded. I have nothing else to say."

The Vhenorook Lord rested his hands on the table. He sighed deeply. There was no turning back now.

Visseek of Clan Carrion had seen and heard enough of these lies. He stood and dragged his clawed nails along the table. Small layers of shredded wood chipped from the wooden table. The Lord watched his fellow skaven in disgust.

"Enough! This is what he craves you fools! If we are to conquer the world we need allies until they no longer serve their purpose then we kill them too. All I see before me are those who have forgotten the path. I will not standby and listen to this heresy any longer. Pestilens will hear of this!"

Gnawdwell flicked his hand to his guards and snarled, "Detain him, now!"

"What is the meaning of this?" Squawked the skaven.

The two guards placed their hands on his shoulders and pressed down. Visseek found himself seated in his chair once more.

Gnawdwell faced the skaven and spoke bluntly, "You agreed to have this meeting of your own volition. Nay, not one furred one held a warplock musket to your temple and goaded you onward. With that said, until this meeting comes to a close on whatever terms and conditions are determined, you are a liability. You will not reveal to Pestilens what has happened here today. There is no secret loyalty to Clan Grozen here. I owe them none. Clan Mors comes first. Clan Pestilens has sparked two civil wars in the past need I remind you. You will be held against your will until further notice."

The Lord of Mors growled as a stunted slave arrived with a drink that he gladly snatched from the fledglings hands. He swallowed the fluids in deep gulps. Along the rim small droplets streamed down his black fur and into his lap.

Gnawdwell belched a wet throaty gurgle and continued, "What happens here is of deep concern to us all. And Clan Carrion will not be the ones to jeopardize the element of surprise. I trust you will arrive in Skavenblight on the day of our meeting?"

His eyes casually glanced toward Grodmoor. "I will be there." Proclaimed the Grozen Lord.

Morskittar stood. "I would like to have a conversation with Grodmoor in private. Can that be arranged?"

"What you wish to say to him can be said here in front of those before you." Gnawdwell glowered at his fellow skaven with dark and glowing, beady eyes. His patience waned.

"Fine. If the wheels of war are in motion, I suspect a treaty is in order. If your scientists have cracked the power of warpstone, then I believe an alliance could be in order."

Grodmoor raised his eyebrow, partially stunned that Morskittar would even consider offering something of that nature. "And what is it you want? Spit it out."

Simple really, the technology. My numbers and my war machines will hammer down judgment upon your foes in exchange for what you are hiding."

Grodmoor grew disinterested in this debacle and cut negotiations short. "No. Not good enough. You work for me. You answer to me. I will not take your word on a piece of paper as a form of validation."

Negotiations stalled. And once more those who remained sighed internally. Grodmoor needed his numbers to turn the tide against the oncoming invasion but unbeknownst to the Grozen Leader one final opening would make itself known.

# # # #

The crowd within the bar cheered while Thavan stood over an army of skaven and bellowed a deep and violent battle cry. Many challenged him but few proved their worth as they lay passed out on the floor or slumped against the tables. They thought they could best the puny human. Little did they know he was once a raging alcohol abuser who earned that title every night.

"Hahahaha! Who else wishes to..." Thavan zoned off and belched loud enough to taste his previous meal. "...challenge me? Come forth!" A vociferous shriek echoed from the mans lungs as he walked across the table eyeing a potential opponent.

"Thavan, come on get down-down now. Grodmoor would have my head if he knew I let you get injured." Requested an anxious and highly drunk Ziv.

"Ah ah ah" Expressed Thavan while twirling his finger left to right. "This ends when I drink the lot of you furry ones into a coma."

"I challenge you, Thavan."

Thavan turned flat on his heels to see Varron seated at the opposite end of the table.

"Challenge accepted." Grinned an unstable and drunk Thavan.

He walked to his challenger and hopped off the table. Hopped was far too kind of an expression. He stumbled off and nearly planted his face firmly onto the floor. Indeed, were it not for a helping hand in the form of a nearby skaven whom he had no preconception of who they were, he'd be tasting a mouthful of blood and broken teeth.

Somehow, someway he managed to seat himself across from his challenger and none the wiser on his savior who shifted back into the many rows of faces watching the coming drinking battle.

Varron looked upward and granted the individual a sparing glance. The cigar betwixt his lips burned bright and highlighted his features in the low light conditions. He puffed one final time. His interest plummeted as he dabbed the end into a stone ashtray. Varron retrohaled and dispersed the smoke from his nostrils. Plumes of the thick smoke intermingled with the musty air.

"Bring out the strongest liquor you got and two shot glasses."

Theesiini made haste toward the counter while the remaining skaven who were still cognitive including the intoxicated bar owner gathered around the duo.

"Are-are you sure about this, Thavan? Varron has lost to no one. You might-will regret this." Ziv stated halfheartedly between the two.

"You deemed it necessary I ingest these fluids...and nowwwwwwwww...I'm gonna finish this and show you all a human can out drink any skaven this side of...whatever the hell part of the world we live within." His serious demeanor and over exaggeration of each word only added to the hilarity of it all.

Ziv tried. Now there was nothing else he could do but watch.

Theesiini scurried forth with a large bottle nearly full with a clear fluid along with two glasses she distributed among the two men.

"The rules are simple." Stated Varron as he gripped his glass. "I drink, you drink. Last one coherent is victorious."

"Fine."

Thavan watched her dump the fluids into both glasses. He gripped his and bent down. There was no scent or aroma. Not a thing. That should have been his first warning.

The second warning became evident the instant Varron swallowed the shot in one gulp. There was a moment where Thavan witnessed uncomfortable pain on his face. If only for a split second. Whatever it was, it was far too strong for the already heavily drunk human.

Thavan held no concern for his own safety nor the fact his liver would hate him for all of eternity. Even if he were five drinks away from alcohol poisoning, the good soldier would tucker on and conclude this battle of wits and strong stomachs. He pressed the glass to his lips and said farewell to all forms of reasoning.

The effects were...well, instant. It was not unlike liquid fire burning a hole into his mouth and throat, similarly to a bright wizard. If the forces of chaos conjured the fluids from their lakes of fire and brimstone, then this is the concoction that would stem from it.

Not even that which Grodmoor drank was this potent. His eyes watered and his face grimaced but he carried on without vomiting up every drop he had drank so far.

"Another!" Commanded Thavan.

He raised his glass to Theesiini. She looked to Ziv hesitantly. She couldn't bear the thought of being the enabler to ending the poor humans life. The fury of Grodmoor is not such a path she fancied to follow. Ziv simply shrugged and raised his hands in confusion. The burden rested squarely on her shoulders.

She timidly filled it to the brim. Thavan wasted no time in waiting. He gulped down the fluids before Varron could even sample his.

Thavan's vision grew disorienting. He could have swore more skaven occupied the building since he arrived. And even more wore filling within with each glass drunk. It seemed there were now double the amount from when he first entered hours ago. He even saw two Varron's but that didn't make no sense. When did he have a twin?

"I didn't know skaven could breed so quick." His words were a slurred drunken mess that dragged on longer than they ever should have.

Varron saw his right eye twitch repeatedly whilst the left struggled to remain open. He was at his limit. He had to be, right?

Five shots later and Thavan barely maintained a grip on his drink. His hands trembled, spilling liquor down his arm.

Varron could feel the effects but held strong. He knew he'd have one hell of a hangover. Still, nothing would compare to the slumbering giant that would come to terms with the man after he woke from this night of debauchery.

The bottle was nearly empty. Their glasses clanked together. Varron took his shot in stride and swallowed without allowing the rising feeling of nausea take hold. The skaven growled at his victory as all eyes turned to Thavan. This was it. It was now or never. He looked around the tavern. Ziv chewed at his nails and in return, the others watched with bated breath.

"You all tink I lust but I ot ore ere at's rum."

"What the hell did he just say-say?" Called out a patron from the crowd. The others scorned him with an onslaught of boo's and shhh's.

Thavan's eyes glazed over as his gaze shifted from Varron to the shot repeatedly. The tension in that room was thick enough to cut with a knife. All he had to do was finish this last shot and they'd either move on or call a tie for Thavan's sake.

Thavan's grip on the shot was firm but unsteady. His eyes stalked the room filled with patrons eyeballing him. He licked his lips and said goodbye to rationale. With a twist of the wrist his hand jerked the shot back, completely bypassing his mouth by a wide margin and splashed the poor sob behind him. The shot glass flew out of his hand and Thavan fell face forward onto the table. His nose and mouth cracked against the wood and a long drawn out snore echoed from deep within his throat.

In one fell swoop he not only lost but knocked himself out. At least his ego won't be hurt. Although, he may wake to find himself nursing a splitting headache.

The skaven, including the one coated in alcohol stood motionless. Nobody coughed or so much as blinked at the spectacle before them. Varron reached into his coat and pulled out a new cigar and match. It was time to commemorate this victory.

Ziv watched in silence and exaggerated, widened eyes. He broke the ice by asking, "Is he dead-dead?"

"No." Grumbled Varron through a puff of smoke. "He just misinterpreted his limit."

By now most of the skaven were departing, disheartened by such an anticlimactic end.

Ziv flicked his chair out and stood. "I don't think I can carry him back to the keep. I put too much down me gob. Thavan said-spoke he intended to live among the city folk for a time. I'll take him back to my burrow, yes-yes."

Varron watched Ziv while he walked over to Thavan who was now residing in an alcoholic coma.

"Yah need help with him?" Varron asked. His teeth clamped down tighter on the tobacco leaves.

"No-no, I think I can manage...eugh! Did he shit himself?"

"That is out of my qualifications and scope of work. I'm just a pilot and gunner after all." Snickered Varron.

Ziv picked Thavan up with one hand and hurdled him over his shoulders. The limp sack of dead weight threw him off balance as he tumbled backwards and nearly crashed both of them into the table.

That was enough for Varron. "On second thought, I have decided it is for the best to aid thee. Grodmoor would never forgive us of this travesty. Now come on, that smell is ripening."

# # # #

Many hours had went and come by. The meeting had come to an end. Grodmoor departed with two clans under his thrall. But still, it wasn't enough. The skaven had a wedge split between them that divided the species and its clans apart further and further by the passing of another day. Clearly, something of an apocalyptic scale would be the grand equalizer that would shake their society apart. And only that. Without Skryre and their technological scientists under his control, this meeting was moot.

An unsuspecting piece to an unstable puzzle would find its way into the Grozen Lord's lap on the eve of his departure. Only a few days remained before the council hearing and, ultimately, war.

A certain individual appeared before him at the most unsuspecting hour. Kreevan was his name, and this is what he said...

"As you know, I am Lord Morskittar's right paw. The very reason his army stands ready to shed blood in his name and honor is by my foresight. My tactical genius and machinations have brought great gains to this long lived clan. And should I pass on, there are none who could assume the mantle that which I possess. Untrained lackey's serve no purpose in the coming days. Battle hardened veterans is what you seek."

Feefee watched from a hole in the wall to keep an eye out for any suspicious individuals who may find their secret meeting. Grodmoor sat a few feet from her, eyeing the general in curiosity.

"What I seek has passed through my grasp. You hold no sway over the whole of Skryre. My thoughts are my own, and I offer you none. What you say changes nothing."

Kreevan raised an eyebrow. "A bit testy are we? It didn't go as expected and I know this. All of this matters Grozen Lord. Can't you see? Morskittar talks and talks and talks some more but nothing is ever accomplished. Will this change your mind, eh, Grodmoor? Morskittar is a liability to this clan. His time has come and gone. You on the other paw do not suffer from inaction. A proactive leader is what we need. You have proclaimed much, and I am listening." He hissed.

"A great battle will span across the entire world. I want to have a part in that conquest. You will see that my demands are manageable as opposed to my Lord. I have no ulterior motive. I want access to your bluestone. Yes, I know of it. Do not shit yourself, Grodmoor. Not everything within your growing empire is safe from outside forces. And yes, I realize there is great underlying potential in that blue rock. Warpstone is limiting. The powers that be within Skavenblight control what they cannot begin to understand. My greatness and prestige is marred by a petty green rock and politics!" The skaven roared, slamming his fist onto the table.

Grodmoor raised his hands and lowered them slowly, as if signifying to the skaven to tone it done.

"I am sorry." He admitted. "My temper has waned and I realize I must hold back. But I digress. I have diagrams of weapons and vehicles ready to be crafted but warpstone is unstable and the only certainty it offers is failure. I care not for a title or diplomacy. Weapons of war utilized by an armada to crush ones foes is the greatest display of power. Politics be damned. Kill your enemy. Only then will they go beyond this mortal coil. Give me access to your bluestone and all of Skryre will bow to Grozen."

Grodmoor scratched his muzzle. "And how do you propose your takeover of Skryre? Usurping Morskittar will be no easy task."

He grinned an evil, toothy smile. "I am deeply relieved you asked. Your fantasy is the end of Skavenblight, is it not? What if I told you I could make the council of thirteen disappear? If all five of us convene, we will have the numbers to crush the Great Clans."

"Five?" Asked a perplexed Grodmoor.

A figure in the blackest corner of the room walked forward, as if appearing from the blackness of the abyss itself. Glowing red eyes were revealed behind a cloth mask. Black leather armor and daggers lined his person. He stood on his tiptoes and sniffed the air. Long claws dug into the ground. Each nail was detailed in Cathayan characters from the Far East.

"Lord Grodmoor, this is Nightlord Sneek."

"Spare your introduction, Kreevan. Stealth is my vocation. And you, Grodmoor, have my children under your command. Grant me access to my kin and I will offer you the impossible. Terms established? Yes?" The Lord of stealth and secrecy spoke in a whispery tone that seemed to be carried on by the stagnant air in the room. Cold and calculating it was.

The bait was placed and they bit. Everything Grodmoor envisioned was coming to a head. He sat forward, staring with those ominous red eyes glowing in the low light of the room. "I'm listening."

* * *

 **Hello everyone! I apologize once again for such a long break from the last chapter but rest assured I am continually making more chapters whether it seems like it or not. I already have two more handwritten that needs to be copied over onto the digital format. I hope the wait is negated by the fact you are enjoying these long chapters. They are like short stories in their own right. My average length for each chapter in this story is 10 thousand words.  
** **I wanted to thank those who have written out reviews for my story. They are very much appreciated and make me feel great that I am entertaining you all so much. Thank you once again for your patience and continue being awesome! See you around and I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as the others.**


	8. Chapter 7

Of Atonement And Salvation: The End Times

Chapter 7

Blood And Sand

(Thavan Vanamar – Location – Ziv's home – Time (4/13/2519)

"Ughhhh...my head." I groaned through gritted teeth and sat forward.

Blankets fell to my waist as I gripped my forehead. "What in Sigmar's name happened last night?"

It was more of a general question. One in which there would be no answer for. But, as I tasted the air and the subtle scent of alcohol laced breath traced down my nostril's, I was reminded of a previous night of debauchery. And I paid for it today. That is for sure.

My head wouldn't stop ringing. If I could try to make out where I was then maybe I wouldn't feel so damn clueless. Nothing would focus. Nausea crept forward, aching to expel the remainder of the poison I consumed the previous night. And who was I to judge my body for protecting me from my own ignorance?

Time seemed to meld away with my hangover. Who knows how long I sat there at the edge of the bed. In vain I tried to wake this groggy, unresponsive form. My limbs were as tree trunks, heavy and still. Just a little bit longer and then I could make my way out of here.

My second attempt stalled before I even had the willpower mustered. It was there but ended abruptly as I heard a sound. And not just any sound either. A roar reverberated through that room as if it were coming from the eye of a storm. It droned on and on dragging through spit and phlegm. Had I been transported to the realm of chaos and fallen to sleep next to a daemon? Where on Sigmar's planet am I?

Finally, I tried to open my eyes once again and focus on the culprit. Why was I not shocked when the truth was revealed? It was none other than Ziv, sleeping at the opposite end of the room. Slackened jaw and drooping tongue uncovered a rather unpleasant sight. That was no roar, he was snoring. He could wake an entire neighborhood or break down this house with lungs like that.

Now the pieces are starting to come together. In my drunken stupor, Ziv must have brought me back to his place of residence.

My eyes bounced around the room. There were a couple wooden dressers with candle holders atop them. The wooden walls were in great shape. No nicks or chipped pieces. The support beams were made from the rocks out of the cavern itself. The floor on the other hand was coarse but soft on the feet as it was made up of wool. Carpeted flooring was unheard of except for those with deep pockets. The skaven continue to impress with their knack.

I was just about to stand up and make my way out into the hall when Ziv caught me completely off guard by what came next. A wretched gurgling force like that of a blunderbuss came from beneath his sheets. It sounded as if the gates of hell had opened out of his ass and daemon's were sprawling forth. The force of that thunderclap of flatulence struck me off guard. I wouldn't have been surprised if my body vibrated from the force.

And the smell...the smell could gag a bile troll. It came like a rolling wave, smashing into me and singeing my nostril hairs.

A contented sigh and wide grin were the last I saw and heard of him as he turned over and away from me.

"Dear God, Ziv, what did you eat? They don't need to use poison wind. All they should do is bottle that stuff. We'll win the war by tea time."

His response was a long winded snore and another barrage of mortar fire. I couldn't handle this smog-filled room any longer. I grabbed my possessions and left that gas trap behind.

Out in the hallway I found myself encountering a myriad number of paintings and other odds and ends. There were lakeside drawings and mountains with ravines and highly detailed streams. He paints? Quite an artist I might add.

There was one in particular that stood out among the rest. It was a painting of the ocean at night. The rolling waves of the water lapping at the white sandy beach along with the glow of pale moonlight all melded together as a painting made by one who loves their craft. The muted colors mixed with the blue sky only helped to add to the feeling it gave.

Around the corner from the artist's room was a pantry and kitchen. An oven lay ready to be used. Opposite of that was a fireplace crafted from wrought iron. Looking in through the opening I could see the last of the embers dying away. Its warmth was fading although it was still nice and toasty in here. Upon finding the closet chair within reach, my stumbling legs moved forward until I gripped the thing and pulled it toward me.

It felt like ages passed by as I stumbled out of my nightly garb and put on my witch hunter uniform. It lacked the faulds and chainmail, but everything else including the gloves, cape, and hat were all there. I excused myself from his home and locked the door behind.

"Oh! There you are, Thavan! I've been looking all over this city for...you."

I turned to greet Zenara but became as puzzled as her upon first glance. Her owl-like eyes and gaping mouth confused me. She looked like she'd never seen me before.

"What happened to you?"

I had no clue what she was on about. Had she just seen a ghost?

"I'm not following you." I answered truthfully.

"Well, have you looked in a mirror recently?"

"No, should I?"

"I don't think words would do this justice, follow me."

She gripped my hand and led me through the streets until we neared a small mirror on a shopkeepers door. My reflection was there in all its glory and there was no hiding the truth. Bloodshot eyes and the short whiskers of a growing beard were only the first couple pieces of the puzzle. Dark circles wrapped around the underside of my eyelids, only heightening the truth behind my sleep deprived figure.

My clothing was as unkempt as my facial features too. An innumerable amount of things were wrong. Where do I begin? My hat hung crooked from the side of my head, barely holding on might I add. My coat was buttoned into my shirt and my shirt into my coat. My belt hung open while my boots were not even tied. How did I ever manage to make it out of his house looking so unprofessional?

"What happened to you the other day, Thavan?"

"Must I speak about it?" I groaned whilst yawning.

"Considering you are under my care, I would like to know you are alright. The lack of sleep was a giveaway from the moment I laid eyes on you. I can also see you are dehydrated. And that smell coming from your breath, it's alcohol. This leads me to believe you shared in festivities with Ziv and Varron. Am I right?" She grinned as her eyes narrowed as if she were sizing up her prey.

"Ugh..."

"As I thought!" She beamed. Her sleuthing skills picked me apart in a matter of seconds. There was no winning this battle.

"Not much we can do about the night before. Nope. Still, we can't have you rummaging around the streets looking like the only homeless human in Grozen. No, no. That sets a bad example." She clicked her tongue and closed the distance, defying my personal space.

"What are you doing?"

She immediately shushed me and showed exactly what would happen. Her hands reached for my hat and collar, straightening both. Her presence, mere inches from me, allowed her natural scent and lavender perfume to intermingle with my senses. Her scent was divine and before I knew it her presence enraptured me against my own will.

My eyes grazed downward, taking in every inch of her form. She wore a new set of raven black robes with a huge Grozen insignia running across the back along the shoulder blades and down to the end of her spine. Beneath those robes was a dress of royal blue and red accents. It ended into a skirt at her kneecaps. Her toned and athletic legs were indeed attractive even though they glistened in white fur.

From this angle I could easily see the divide between her two large breasts. The clothing pressed taut against those two mounds. If I could see myself I believe I blushed deeply at my own embarrassment. Zenara paid me no mind. Her attention focused on my coat and shirt.

"Zenara, I can do it myself." Those words barely fluttered from my mouth, nearly inaudible.

"Silence. If you could manage, you'd have done it the first time." That sassy attitude only went to greater lengths as she cracked her tail against the ground and narrowed her eyes.

How was I going to get out of this? Zenara matched my height. Each time she breathed I could feel the warmth of her breath trailing from my face down to the nape of my neck. Tingles traveled across my body as if saying 'hello this is nice.' This is not nice!

This was when it finally clicked. The pieces fell into place and only now had I realized what was in the back of my head all this time. I no longer looked at her as simply a skaven. Or even a female skaven for that matter. In my eyes she was a woman. One who made this tingling creeping feeling edge closer to the surface from my very core. My mind and even soul became lightheaded whenever her presence was close to mine. Never in my life can I recall someone of the opposite sex placing this spell under me. I was enthralled. Could it be that I have fallen for her? And as I ask this question to myself, I feel the secret longing to feel her close to me once more as our day above ground. The answer is obvious: Should something of this nature be allowed? The code I swore on my inauguration within The Cult of Sigmar would be broken and I am scared to admit that I am fine with this. What has happened to me?

"Thavan?"

"Wha...what?" I stammered.

"I asked if you were hungry." Her blue eyes seemed to penetrate my thoughts and reveal my secrets before her. And if she could read my thoughts what is it she would say I ponder?

"I'm famished. I will head back to the keep."

"Nonsense. It is dinner time. I was planning on cooking and, well, if you'd like, you would join me. I have a lot of information that must be discussed with you and I'd prefer within the comfort of my own home."

"Yes, that is fine. You said dinner, how long have I been out?"

"If we were outside, it would be nearing nightfall. I presume at least 15 hours or more."  
"And this is why I stave off from alcohol. Lead the way."

# # # #

(Thavan Vanamar – Location – Grozen Keep – Time (4/13/2519)

Zenara led me to the front door of her abode. As she opened the door and walked inside, I followed after her. If Ziv's house struck me as a shocking sight to see, then when I saw Zenara's I was positively floored.

The colors were vibrant but not to flashy. The cherry oak walls blended exquisitely with the white fluffy carpeted floor. Along the walls and sitting on stands were many different magical trinkets. Some floated in glass compartments while others glowed. In front of us at the end of the hall was a spiral staircase coated in a shiny layer of black leading up to the observatory.

Zenara removed her robes and placed them on a coat rack near the entrance. I followed suit with my coat and hat.

"Do you like steak, Thavan?"

"Of course I do! You have cows here?" The thought of a nice juicy steak was a melody to my ears.

She smiled at my question and walked to the kitchen. "Indeed we do. We have farms above ground where we raise the livestock. You gotta feed a growing empire somehow.

Her statement left me even more confused. "Speaking of the surface, each day your kind leave the caverns behind, do they not run the risk of being detected by those who live above ground?

She shook her head and reached for her staff resting against the counter. Zenara twirled the staff in her hand and ignited flames within the oven, preparing coals to cook the meal.

"That is a good question." She said while placing her staff back against the wall. "We inhabit a moderately sized island west of Albion and northeast of Ulthuan in the midst of the Great Ocean. It has afforded us a level of anonymity that nowhere else could possibly provide."

"I see. I don't recall ever seeing anything like that on a map. That explains my questions."

She smiled then opened an ice box and reached in pulling out two cold but not frozen cuts of meat.

"Say," She asked while fumbling with the butcher paper they were wrapped in. "how do you like your steak? A preference in mind?"

I rocked my head back and forth ruminating over something I had not thought about for quite some time. "Ugh I like a warm pink center. Yes that's it." I stated with a little more enthusiasm than necessary.

"I believe all men like it that way..."

"Beg pardon?"

She waved her hand and coughed forcefully. "Oh it is nothing. I personally prefer mine with a little blood." She smirked, revealing her long canines as we locked eyes.

That face appeared more like a huntress sizing up her kill as opposed to just an innocent grin. A strange uneasy feeling traipsed down my spin and lapped against my skin like blades of grass tickling my flesh. We needed to change the subject.

"You have me where you want me. So tell me, what is it you wish to speak of that required the secrecy within your own home? This is a ruse to throw the others off is it not? If you shed light on this topic it is to stay with me, that is correct?"

Zenara opened the oven door and placed both steaks on a cast iron pan. She reached into the cupboard and extracted a bounty of spices. Zenara doused the meat liberally with the contents. Her hands reached for some mushrooms that she chopped with the finesse of an assassin. The blade in effect was an extension of her fingertips. Zenara cupped the mushrooms then dropped them on top of the steaks.

Zenara's tail whipped around and gripped the lid to the pan. She delicately placed it on top of our dinner and sat it over a bed of coals. With one crack of her tail she closed the oven and sat beside me.

"Yes, Thavan. You would be right. That does not make it any easier for me to ask this of you." She sighed and clapped her hands together.

"Grodmoor has faced a delay. We have no understanding on when or if he will return. His time within Skavenblight is a delicate matter and we must tread carefully. It is a great many days from our home and Grodmoor has faced adversity upon his drive to unite the skaven. This was to be expected but the rules of succession leave me the reigning leader. With the throne absent I now reside over far to many lives I'd like to count."

Zenara choked on her words. Whatever she harbored hung heavy upon the sorceress. "This means that I must carry out the orders Grodmoor issued. If the grand scheme stalls then you know what will happen to this world."

A grim reminder she instilled within. The reason I fight harder and harder each passing day.

"Grodmoor mentioned several weeks ago that others would come under our fold. Alliances would be formed. This in turn would lead us toward a world untainted by the insanity that is chaos. Our emissaries are traveling far and wide to establish this beacon of defiance. A bright, burning star to encompass this dark world. Even now as we plot away our world is altering and The End Times as we know them will change too. One can only ponder what will become of us when these days before us are nothing more than a chapter of history detailed in some dusty book? I can only pray the end of days is the end for the chaos and not us."

She looked off at a painting on the wall. Her face was stone cold but the beaming light of hope shined through her even now.

"But I digress, Thavan. Your allies, the dwarfs have no love for my species. We have antagonized them since the beginning of recorded time. In their great book of grudges, we are marked. They've slaughtered every emissary we have sent. I will not casually waste the blood of my people so they may continue to wallow in their hatred over the past. Let them be trampled by the ensuing hordes of chaos. It will buy us much needed time. We have taken this time to also warn the High Elves of an imminent invasion. They ran us off and spoke of us as a pestilence race within their territory of Ulthuan. The allies of humanity regard us as vermin and disregard our offer of allegiance. Our need for allies has forced us to take a...well, unorthodox approach at recruitment. Another faction, one who we thought was out of our reach has contacted us. They would like to meet with us and discuss on the matter of the days to come and the impending war. Only two are allowed entry at this meeting. I was hoping and praying you'd join me in this formality. Grodmoor naturally relegates himself to this role as he is a gifted speaker. Alas, I am not fortunate enough to have him and that means this burden rests on my shoulders."

Zenara stood and prepared two glasses of water for the both of us. When she handed me mine, I gulped down the fluids nearly instantly.

"I imagine you are rather thirsty after last night. I'll just leave the colander here for you."

She filled my glass once more as I wiped my mouth and pressed the issue. "You've made it a point to avoid stating who they are. What are you trying to say, Zenara? Out with it."

I swallowed down the next cup of fluids and watched as she reached for the colander. Her delicate hands tilted forward and dumped more fluids into my cup for a third time.

Her eyes darted to and fro, avoiding mine for as long as possible until those blue and black orbs locked onto mine. "Vampires, Thavan. To be exact, the Lahmians."

As those words left her mouth I felt a horrible weight press down on my heart. The beating became erratic and the water in my mouth had gone down the wrong hole. I choked, nearly dropping the glass.

"Vampires!? Lahmians?! I screamed. "Have you not forgotten my career? They'd tear me apart if they could get their fangs on me."

"I know, Thavan. I know. That is why this entire conversation has strained me. What I am asking of you is no simple task."

"No, Zenara, I don't think you realize the situation here. I was no lowly hunter paid in coin to execute contracts at some fat rich bastards behest. I hunted one clan who stalked the ancient manors surrounding virulent bogs and water logged trees under a pale cold moon. They were the Sisterhood of The Lahmians. My name is loathed within their society. Before I was dragged down into the underworld, I had to be ever vigilant for every night I risked experiencing glistening fangs baring above my bedside, aching to spill the blood of one who caused them such grief. I will die if you drag me to their lair. Is this what you want, Zenara? Is it!" All sense of rhyme or reason abandoned me. I stared at her with bloodshot eyes as saliva trailed down my lip. I was more in tune with a rabid mutt than my own self.

Zenara sat there in silence with her head hung low. I took it as a sign to continue my outburst. "If I depart for this meeting I will be a danger to this allegiance. No matter the fact I vehemently disagree conspiring with the undead. That is a conversation for another time. Zenara, there are only a few things I fear in this world, and one of those things is the thought of them getting a hold of me...and...and..."

All sense of normality faded away. My hands must have been shaking for Zenara reached across the table and gripped each one in hers. I looked down at her clawed nails painted with black polish. Unlike the rest of her body, from her wrists up, there was no fur. Still, her hands were as soft and gentle as those greyish white fingers wormed their way into mine. The heat of her flesh calmed my nerves as the hysteria gave way to calm relaxation.

"Thavan, the only reason I'd ask this of you is because you are the only person I trust enough to go alone with me. None of these people within this empire are level headed enough for this task at hand. I would never put you in harms way but I need you." The compassion in her soft voice and demeanor pulled me and tugged at my core.

"I had a suspicion that they were the ones you dispatched. You are an outsider. And even though you are no vampire, you still resemble them more so than myself. I mean, look at me, Thavan. I'm a furry bipedal creature that inhabits the darkest regions underground. Those who live on the surface are prone to be more trusting of others that look like them. You are but one example of that principle in action. We had to prove to you we meant well. Trust is earned and those few who know of us loathe my species. I will not force you to go. Should you decide to accompany me, I'll need to know before you retire for the night."

Once again I would place myself in an uncomfortable position. I know what she requests of me is a necessity We need the bodies, whether good or evil. Those who fight chaos shall be used. I have to swallow my pride and fear. Only then can I hope to be the aid that she needs. These are desperate times and I must swallow down my hatred for her.

"There's no need for me to wait. I'm going with you."

Her eyes lit up like stares in the night. Or in this case, glowing blue mushrooms in a cavern. Small talk resumed as we dined on the most lavish and extravagant meals I have ever had the pleasure of feasting upon. The finest chefs within the Empire would blush in embarrassment.

Soon after, we said our goodbyes and I had to make a detour before we left and that detour was none other than the goddamned armory.

# # # #

(Thavan Vanamar – Location – Beneath the Silver Pinnacle – (4/30/2519)

Zenara powered down the engine and sat in silence while I paced back and forth. The underground tunnel gave way to catacombs stretching deep within the bowels of the world. One wrong turn and an endless waltz around an unending maze would spell an early death. We'd walk from here on out but to our surprise, a lone figure was already waiting.

Luckily for us, or unluckily depending upon the circumstances, this being was not of the mortal realm. Draped over its skeletal form were black leathers. It waited patiently, expecting our arrival. And even though it lacked eye sockets I could have swore it was staring directly at me. Its jaw quivered when I left the confines of the vehicle and closed the distance. The skeleton tapped its bony fingers against each other and gripped its pant leg tightly. Was it straining at the sight of my presence?

The being spoke a cold yet soothing ethereal tone. Were its words carried on the damp and cold stagnant air or was that my mind hallucinating?

"I beg of thee that you both pardon my unsavory habits. I do so get worked up when those dressed in blankets of flesh arrive. Watching your muscles move within your cheeks to the glistening of moisture upon your eyes is a most intriguing spectacle. Speak, so I may watch that pinkish, queer appendage dance against your lips and teeth whilst swimming in a mouthful of saliva." It moaned huskily and cooed as if it came down from a session of sexual ecstasy.

The eye sockets 'looked' off in the distance, almost dreamily in the way it carried itself. Whatever fantasy it was daydreaming, I'd rather not get caught up in that scenario. Just the thought of it makes my skin crawl and my hand draw closer to my firearm. As promised, I swallowed my pride and walked away from the safety of my vehicle. I never strayed far from Zenara.

It beckoned me to speak. I looked to her for guidance. With a reassuring nudge, she allowed me to take the lead.

"On behalf of Clan Grozen and the survival of this world, I, Thavan Vanamar, an emissary has arrived with Zenara The White Seer, second only to Lord Grodmoor, to strike a deal with the Lahmian...Sisterhood." That final word nearly left my mouth in a choking gag. Oh dear Sigmar, what have I done?

The skeleton cocked its head to my words and pressed its knees together. Was it getting off...?

"Oh yes." It breathed with an air of femininity. "We know of you. We've been expecting the human who has caused this bloodline a great many concerns. How does it feel knowing you will be the first witch hunter who will leave these halls today without fangs in your throbbing, pulsing neck? To leave with so much hemoglobin is such a sin, wouldn't you agree my sweet delicacy?"

An uneasy chill skimmed across the upper layer of my flesh. Her or its voice became darker and more cruel in tone as the conversation carried on. "May we proceed with the hearing and stop this...whatever it is?" I demanded.

"Oh, I do sometimes let my mind ramble on even though it has rotted away." She laughed a long winded spasm of coughs and guffaws. It didn't sound real. It sounded more like a monster than a person. And then, just as soon as it started, it faded away into a cold whispering laugh carried on by the dead air.

It turned itself from me and faced Zenara. It adopted a more business-like approach. "My masters wish to know why Lord Grodmoor has not graced us with his presence? Second or not, we were promised your Lord."

And now it was Zenara's turn to speak. "Beside Grodmoor, I stand. He sent emissaries detailing his predicament and that he apologizes for any inconveniences. Grodmoor has not stepped foot in Grozen for weeks on end. These are trying times for us all. Yet your Sisterhood has no cause for alarm. Nothing has changed.

"We know. Yes we do. My masters deemed it necessary to hear from your lips. Do you hear that?"

It raised its hand and tilted its head. At first I had no understanding of what it meant. Then, a faint noise of grinding gears somewhere in the distance stirred to life.

"Your first trial has concluded. They listened and believe. Now come, my masters bid thee welcome to The Silver Pinnacle. But do not stand idle too long. Hasten yourselves for their time is precious." The skeleton cut itself abruptly with a sharp cackle that seemed to drone on all around us. What I wouldn't give to remove myself from these goddamned bloodsuckers.

The skeleton guided us through the catacombs and beyond. Torches were scattered sparingly throughout each room and long musty hall. Hundreds of crypts lay closed and locked away beneath slabs of stone, encrusted with jewels and etchings of the Lahmian seals engraved upon each crypt. Some were bare and crumbling away. It was rather obvious which were cared for and those that were not.

The wailing groans of ghostly apparitions sounded somewhere deep in the bowels of this hellish tomb. Wherever it was, the noise came far from our line of sight. Water trickled down from the ceiling, splashing onto the tombstones and landing in small pools on the ground. Fluids sloshed against our footsteps, heightening the sense of loneliness and eeriness this place pervaded. Even our host appeared to float across the ground. The black leather draped over its legs had not altered in shape. There was no shuffling gait. Just a stillness that unnerved me.

"Stay close to me." The skeleton beckoned whilst gripping a torch from the wall with its cold skeletal fingers.

Its face turned back to us as the glow of the embers danced off its porcelain white skull, illuminating the sockets of its long gone eyes. "There are beings down within these tombs. Ancient creatures longing for the taste of mortal blood. But do not judge them my fair guests. The children do grow so wanton in the unending thirst when warm-bloods approach."

Zenara and I exchanged glances but said nothing. She drew herself closer to me and I to her.

Along the many halls and passages there were ten more openings into who knows where. For those few who dared to search for the Silver Pinnacle, they'd meet their end in the long dead halls at the maw of some terrifying being not meant for the eyes of mortals. I pray to God I never have to traverse this nightmare again.

Minutes came and went when we happened upon a large clearing where a section of the wall had caved in. Years of neglect proved time and time again that every construct would give way to nature lest even beings such as the undead maintain order. The wall crashed downward a great distance below leaving a clear view of what lurked beyond.

As I walked to the edge I realized it opened into a great cavern far beyond my line of sight. Tiny dots of light glowed in the distance in the form of candles and torches. The gloomy ambiance it bestowed and the chilling howl of some being beyond offered one cold hard truth; we were unwanted.

And as I looked into that darkness beyond those faint orbs of light, something large in the chasm skulked about but never quite made itself visible. Maybe, that was for the best?

I had seen enough. It was time to move on. But why did I stop when my legs meant to lead me elsewhere? Why? Dark red and glowing ominous eyes larger than even a giant's glistened in the darkness. Its orbs planted themselves upon me. Although I could not see its face, I could vividly picture a horrifying being with sharp gleaming fangs covered in the blood of some ill fated human. Those bloodstained daggers grinned at my insignificant presence, aching to tear me apart limb from limb and gorge upon my fluids and marrow.

When Zenara called out for me I nearly jumped from my skin as I turned and looked at both of them standing far ahead and staring at me expectantly. My mind had trailed off. Thrice damn me! Had they left me, I'd have been lost in this maze.

As I turned yet again to look into the eyes of my waiting killer, I realized it was already gone. The red eyes were nowhere to be seen. I cannot say if I was relieved or concerned. But one thing is for certain; I hope I never cross paths with it.

I patted my legs, wiping dust from them and strode toward the bizarre duo. "Must we take this ridiculous route into the castle? Isn't the surface an option?"

"My dear human," It spoke in reverence. "The Silver Pinnacle straddles a great mountain with temperatures capable of freezing you solid in minutes and winds strong enough to strip your beautiful flesh from the bone. I certainly wouldn't want that. Would you?" It cooed. "This is the only way."

Upward and onward we seemed to move for an eternity. How one was to navigate a labyrinthine maze like this was beyond me. On the contrary though, I believe it was designed like this on purpose. The Lahmians are a shrewd and devious people. Only those they beckoned would have an audience with their mistress. The rest would fall to the myriad number of insidious traps and or monsters lurking in the blackness.

The skeleton led us to a spiral staircase that we ascended. The higher we got the cleaner the area became. Dust and debris was left behind to the cavern and catacombs below. A light film of sweat and dust covered my brow as I continued to trudge onward.

Zenara separated herself from me with each second gone by. Her stamina was greater than mine while I lagged behind. Higher and higher she strode until I lost track of her. My legs and mind screamed for a chair and a good flagon of honey mead. As if my wishes came true, I heard a door creak open further upward. Just a few more steps. And there it was, beams of bright light lit the dark dank tunnel I came from.

My feet met solid ground with no steps in sight, while my lungs breathed in heavy gasps of air. "Damn, I truly am out of shape." I huffed and stood hunched over with my hands on my kneecaps. An unfortunate but truthful statement.

"My master will arrive shortly to conduct the meeting. I ask that you remain within this hall until she beckons for you. I will return with refreshments."

With my breath easing down, I stood straight and gazed over at the new sight before me. And what a sight it was. A hall, if one could even call it that, stretched so far beyond our line of sight I'd have sworn it was endless with countless doors and stairwells. Rich and immaculate chandeliers dangled from above on golden chains. Candles flickered their warming glow upon the silvery walls.

Statues of Neferata herself, the Queen of The Lahmians was sculpted into the walls. Her mouth hung agape with porcelain fangs and a smile that'd rival a chaos daemons maw as it cornered its prey. She crouched down on bent knees with her hand touching the dead face of a man lost in the throes of ecstasy only her kind offered.

My skin tingled whilst the hairs on my arms stood at attention. The blood in my veins iced over as the realization of it all came to a head; I was within their domain now. Should negotiations turn violent, well, there is no doubt what will become of me.

The longer we stood within these halls the further I found myself drifting away from Zenara. And that in turn led me to a large mirror. At the outer rim it was entirely encrusted with diamonds of considerable size. One alone would surely be worth an entire years worth of my salary.

Seeing my reflection was unusual. It has been years since I'd seen myself but there I was. After living such a cozy life in Stäntrhein my cheeks were rounder and supported by a heavier frame. That was no longer evident as I ran my hands over my cheeks and jawbone. The flesh was thinner and I could now see and feel a well defined jawline. How can I be skinnier and yet more out of shape than ever before?

From shoulders on down, there was muscle and more muscle. All those years of fighting paid off for something didn't they? But still, there was something different about me. Something uncanny that I couldn't grasp. Perhaps it was nothing?

The black leather and armor of Clan Grozen fit me in size, appearance and intimidation. Those skaven sure know how to make a good uniform and to bring the fear of God into non-believers. Can't deny that. From the buckle on down to the pieces of armor strapped to my waist and even the boots with their laces, there were two things that stood out beyond the rest. Each article was handcrafted with painstaking detail.

With all that said, I did not like the look of my eyes. Those grey orbs staring back at me offered no shining light, no hope. It was a hollow figure with gaunt features and an unsightly palor. Was this truly...me?

"I see you have made yourself at home, Thavan Vanamar." A voice cooed from behind. But there was no figure seen from the mirror.

Even before I turned, I was prepared and knew what to expect. But that voice, I know it... She was invisible to the mirror yet my eyes had told no lies as I swung on my heels. Those venomous red orbs, that cherry red lipstick and porcelain skin all came back to me.

She pulled a pin from her hair. Long locks of cold black hair cascaded down her back. Her lips parted into a sinister grin, revealing two deadly fangs.

"Impossible! How...how could you have returned?" Shock and fear riveted through my strained words. She beamed in victory and moved closer.

Zenara stepped forward. "You know her, Thavan?"

"Know her?" My voice cracked under the reality of this sight before me. "I killed her! I watched her dead eyes roll into the back of her head as I plunged a stake through her chest!"

"What, like one of these?" She hissed and pulled back the side of my coat, revealing several weapons designed for dispatching vampires, including stakes.

"You did kill her." She spat out the words. "My twin sister, Elizabeth. I am Hiseelia and rightful heir to the Bleddinvine Manor. I was too late. At the time of my arrival, the manor was a smoking ruin of charred memories. The land cried out and gaped in blackened fury. My birth-rite tarnished by a mere mortal." She scowled. Her eyes turned beady as she focused on me and me alone.

"And, like any good Lahmian, I sought Neferata's approval to cast aside my future and rid you of this world. With her blessing granted, I traveled across the Imperial cities in search of you." Her eyes turned predatory while she closed what little gap there was.

My hand instinctively reached for the gun at my side. She was faster. My hand intertwined within the steely grip of an inflamed vampire. I backed into the wall and lost any means of escaping her presence.

Zenara moved closer but not before Hiseelia commanded, "Halt!" Each of us froze.

"Now that I have your attention, I shall state my case. Surely bloodletting tickled my fancy. I'd gladly oblige at the opportunity of splitting your veins. But then, one day I caught up to you and watched you from afar. I saw myself in you as the anguish and pain I had manifested through your features. You were hated and ostracized by your own people. I knew then that allowing you to suffer in silence and solitude would be your greatest burden. A short death I may offer could never truly shine such as the depression and emptiness you felt in your daily life. When I learned you were captured and tortured for years on end, I realized I made the best decision of my life. Tell me, Thavan, how does it feel knowing you are aiding a species that loathes your very existence? How does it feel knowing everything you ever cared about will be but a distant memory? And you...you'll continue to writhe in torment for eternity. Can you look into her eyes and suffer silently knowing that what you stare upon each day is the face of the species that disgraced you for all of the world to see?"

Her words stung like daggers digging beneath the skin. An annoyance that was ultimately superficial. She ached for me to lash out but this was not the time or place. I made a promise I intended to keep. And I would. If there is one thing I have gained from my days of enslavement is to know when to shut up and keep silent. Words are just that, words.

"I don't feel anything, Hiseelia."

Her red eyes blinked but there was no sign of any feeling. Be it anger or confusion. Our eyes locked once again and the world froze.

Hiseelia's head tilted and dove toward my bare neck. I had not retaliated. Instead, I waited and listened. Her cold breath danced down my naked skin. It tingled as my hair stood at attention and Zenara readied her staff. My hand rose upward and signaled for her from proceeding any further.

"Being so close to you has shown what I truly yearn for. Were it not for this meeting, I'd gladly suck the life from you. An eye for an eye. But you will live. Neferata wills it."

Her words straddled this eerie parallel between sensual and cold. She spoke to me as if I were nothing more than insect. This was no different than how I spoke of them. Was I looking into a reflection of myself through her eyes? Predator and prey intermingling as one. Both of us were barbaric in our means of murdering one another.

"Enough of this game." She stated while turning from me. "Follow me through these halls to our destination. This is no place to conduct business."

At her behest, we followed the vampire through the immaculate halls filled with paintings and suits of pristine armor. Even as I walked on by those empty sets, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was staring back through those empty, soulless, eye holes.

She led the two of us up a winding stairwell and through zigzagging corridors. After a few minutes of more wandering around, she stopped at a jeweled door with a skull for a handle encrusted with golden eyes and unnaturally long canines.

Her fingers lightly caressed the knob. At her command it opened without so much as making a noise. Her hand outstretched and pointed within the room. "After you my dears." Her sweet tone was undeniably sickening.

Zenara entered first as I trailed behind, half expecting a ploy that ends in our demise. Within the room there was a long table with a scarlet colored skirt running around the length of it. A cozy and inviting fireplace stood dead center of the table at the far end betwixt two pillars stretching upwards into the ceiling. Embers glowed as the fire crackled and burned a bright yellow flame, illuminating most of the room.

At the furthest corners of the room, beyond the reach of the great fireplace, candles would suffice for light. Hiseelia seated herself at the head of the table. She pointed for us to take our seats. Which we did. Zenara sat closest to the vampire and fireplace while I seated myself beside her.

Zenara placed her staff on the table and focused on the discussion ahead. "I presume Neferata will make an appearance shortly?"

Hiseelia picked at her black fingernails and glanced upward. "No, I am afraid she will not. As you are second to Grodmoor, the same can be said of me to Neferata. Whatever treaty, pact or bargain is conjured today will be approved through Neferata herself. If you are a suitable replacement to parley then so am I. One could say the game was rigged from the start." An eerily soft laugh echoed from her throat. Hiseelia's lips twisted into a foreboding grin.

I could see it in Zenara's eyes; she intended to discern what the vampire implied. If that question had an answer to it, then it would be lost to time for another door in the room opened.

The chamber beyond revealed the skeleton from before. It entered bearing a large platter with an assortment of refreshments. One must ask themselves would they be willing to take drinks from a skeleton that has a fetish for skin? That is a moral dilemma that I cannot sadly answer. Our hike through the underground left me parched and the thought of quenching this thirst sounded heavenly.

The blackened platter shimmered in the low light. The skeleton strode toward her master and bent forward, allowing her to peruse and make the first choice. The vampire reached for a crystal clear goblet with crimson fluids within.

Her decision seemed to only inflame her short temper. "No no that won't do, it's not ready. An older vintage would suffice and whet this famished appetite."

"Then might I offer this in its stead to grant thy undying thirst a fresh respite?" It pointed to a larger more lavish cup with claws engraved around the glass. From here it looked like the claws were holding the cup upward.

"This one was a young male in his mid twenties, black hair and a penchant for despising our kind."

Both of their heads slowly turned and gazed upon me. I gulped down an excess of saliva and gripped the collars on my coat, raising them upward and pressing them tightly against my throat.

The empty eye sockets of the skeleton and the cold, deadly eyes of the vampiress was a chilling experience that left me breathless.

She turned back to her slave. "I'll take that. The youth of this world I do so envy..." Her words trailed off as the skeleton walked to Zenara. She was quick to shoo the thing away. It then made a beeline for me. As 'she' stood over me I realized she was breathing long winded gasps. How does a skeleton breathe? Sometimes the blackest of magic is best left a secret.

"Make your choice my sweet human. Oh, but do be careful with the red fluids, lest you fancy hemoglobin then by all means...proceed." She insisted in a dreamy and sensual tone.

One of the 'drinks' came in the shape of a small cauldron with a handle. A fog-like substance puffed from the opening and scattered from the platter onto the table.

"Is that drinkable?" Hesitantly, I asked.

"Yes."

"Would you lie?"

"Yes..." It looked down at me and formed its toothy skeletal mouth into a beaming grin.

Without asking another question, I reached for the closest chalice containing an icy blue fluid. My decision was made. There was no turning back now. May God have mercy on my organs.

With the choice made, I placed the chalice on the table. At that instant Hiseelia hissed, "Leave us."

The skeleton performed a curtsy and spared a passing glance my way before it departed from whence it came. I proceeded to take a small sip of the fluids and in turn hope I forget that thing forever. It was cold but refreshing. Perhaps some type of fruit was added within?

"Now then, onto business. We know what you offer. You seek our aid. Is that correct?" Hiseelia's head cocked to the side. She watched Zenara as she played with her nail.

"Indeed. That is correct. The End Of Days draws nigh. We're building an army unlike anything this world has ever seen. Those of all walks of life will hear the call and converge on this beacon of defiance."

Hiseelia drew the goblet to her lips. The muscles in her throat contracted. Blood flowed down and into her core.

"For those unfamiliar with the way of the world, the sight of skaven and human working together for a common goal would perplex the mind of many mortals. Neferata herself has seen a great calamity drawing near. This ceaseless void leaves little to interpret. You are lucky for our queen has offered you a deal. We will not mince words, our terms are laid out henceforth."

Hiseelia stretched her fingertips as far as they could go. A red flame ignited in her hand. It floated and bobbed around her palm. The flame disintegrated, leaving behind a floating and spinning letter. She snapped her finger and sent it flying toward Zenara.

Zenara caught the letter in her left hand. She flicked her nail against the seal and extracted the parchment. In turn, she began reading in earnest. "I trust you'll find our demands are...within reason." That hesitation in her words. I didn't trust that tone at all.

"Within the bowels of the land of the dead a great pyramid has sunk into the core of the earth after a violent earthquake swept through swallowing up the structure ages ago. Neferata has eyes everywhere and yet we have no means to traverse your skaven underway unscathed. Every human thrall that has gone on this journey for us has never returned. Nagash's elixir tainted us. There was whispers among the populace that a more powerful elixir existed. One that would grant us all of our powers along with the beating of a heart once again. Not even the sun would shun our dominion over the land. Nothing could nor would stop us." Her facial features warped into a victorious grin.

"No." I spoke aloud without thinking. "Their goal is to rule over the mortal realm. Even the Von Carstein's would be crushed by their might. If such a thing exists we'll..."

"Lose?" She snickered.

"The terms are set forth. Go to the land of the dead. Confirm our suspicions and retrieve said artifact. If no such thing exists, then I will need proof you've been there. How you obtain said proof is within your hands. Do this and we will join as one in a defiant roar against the inevitable chaos hordes. Or, die alone. The choice is yours."

Zenara agreed and signed the paper. My heart stilled. We made a pact with the enemies of humanity. What have I done?

"Oh, and before I forget, your Lord Grodmoor must assume leadership over all of skavendom if this allegiance is to be bound in unholy flame."

"You have nothing to worry yourself with. Grodmoor will have the other clans under his thrall before the end of this year. It is you who must uphold your end of the bargain." Her words were blunt and straight to the point.

The vampire nodded and raised her glass. "A toast, to our future alliance."

I neither raised my glass nor drank with her. She placed the rim against her lips and sucked daintily upon the scarlet liquids until her cup runneth empty.

"Thavan, upon your return, I require something from you. You will meet with me alone. If you wish to see this alliance materialize then I suggest you heed my words. Do I make myself clear?"

What was I supposed to say but yes? Whatever ghastly idea's she's cooking up is something I must face when that day comes. Until then I will be the good soldier I am and do as I am told. As for Zenara, that was the the last straw that broke the horse's back.

She kicked out her chair and raised a finger to the vampire. To her credit, she did not even flinch. "This is asinine! You cannot simply write in what you choose. There is nothing within here that details Thavan is necessary for this alliance. What are you getting at?"

Hiseelia raised an eyebrow. A malicious grin materialized. "I'd suggest you lower your voice, rat. Within these halls there are many listening. I'd wager to say I can do whatever I damn well please, skaven. I am the voice of Neferata when she is away. If you came all this way to offer a pact it is clear you are desperate. And you will run along like the good puppets you both are and do our bidding as I have asked." She clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes.

Zenara fell back into her chair, defeated and mocked. I have to commend her for honoring me but it was futile, even I knew that.

A painting behind the vampire drew me forward. An image of the shifting sands reminded me just where we were headed. A detour to the desert huh? How bad could it be?

* * *

 **And here comes another chapter. I don't break my promises. I am finding a new way to churn out chapters faster. This may translate to an increase in volume. (I hope :( ) Trying to write and juggle all the plots has left my mind taxed. But, I am proceeding with the story as planned so far. The next chapter may be the longest one I have written yet. It is looking like it will be around 15 thousand words. Hopefully I will have it out by the first or second week of next month.**

 **I hope you all don't mind the length of each chapter. I don't like writing short chapters. I like substance to each chapter as if they were mini stories in their own right. Anyway, have a great day everybody and I hope you enjoy the new chapter. Vampires are some of my favorite monsters in any type of lore. I was so excited to add them in. Be safe and have a great weekend!**


	9. Chapter 8

Of Atonement And Salvation: The End Times

Chapter 8

The Price of Immortality

Thavan sat inside the tight confines of the Death Treader. A place he has become alarmingly used to. Their journey through the land of the dead appeared to be as unending as the shifting sands above. This desert stood the test of time although it was nothing more than an ocean of death. Sure, there were animals here and there hiding underneath rocky crags to take shelter from the blistering heat or burrowing beneath the sands. And yet, it was as lifeless as the rocky caverns below.

Varron warned the others of oncoming perils. The journey beyond these metallic walls would not be an easy one. This forgotten relic's location was a mystery even for the Lahmian Sisterhood. They would guide the skaven and human to the best of their ability at the last known location of where it resided. Beyond that, with no map and no proper means of navigation, it rested upon Varron and Zenara to track it down.

This destination warranted an upgrade to their vehicle. Two sizable augers attached to the front of the Death Treader supported a pair of black spiral shaped drills that widened out the closer they drew to the vehicle. The duo made short work of the earth, separating and tearing through rock was an easy task for the warpstone powered weaponry. The constant screeching and grinding left Thavan and the others with many sleepless nights.

Zenara, Neeshi, Teeshna, Sorn, and Ziv all sat together in collective silence. A great many trials awaited the skaven bearing the mark of Grozen and their human ally.

For several hours Varron found no opening into some long forgotten cavern. The sound of the drills were the only solace offered to them. This in turn left many sitting and ruminating in silence over their thoughts. An unhealthy situation for some.

Zenara gripped her staff tightly. A sense of urgency overwhelmed the female skaven. _If not now then when?_ She pondered.

"Thavan, I'd like to speak with you in private." She called aloud among the group.

He in turn looked up, driven from his mind. The internal spell that was his thoughts shattered and the real world came back to him. His attention diverted to her while their fellow allies watched the two stand.

Through the glowing green lens of Ziv's gas mask he watched the human follow after her. A heads up display detailed the remaining globes upon his back and the state of his vitals.

Zenara tugged open the sliding door leading into the storage and sleeping quarters. Thavan walked after her and closed it behind him. His eyes gazed into the room he had now left. The other four watched him as he closed the door behind. Something about their fixated stare left Thavan in a state of unease.

He turned and acknowledged Zenara. She avoided his gaze whilst inhaling a deep and bated breath. The words she sought were not within reach.

She placed her hand on Thavan's shoulder and faced him. The piercing eyes that focused on every minute detail were telling. "Be mindful and hearken my words; the land we travel to is a place of immense magical power. I worry should the forces of chaos call to you then you will become as a beacon- or a portal if you will. Something's not right. The winds of magic grow stronger as we near what I genuinely believe to be our destination. If said anomaly isn't what we are closing upon, then something far worse is on the horizon. Steel yourself, Thavan. The worst has yet to manifest. I can feel the pull of magic in my very soul." She breathed deeply and sighed, lowering her hand in the process.

Thavan's mouth opened but words were slow to follow. "Wha...what are you getting at, Zenara? Do not speak in riddles and vague descriptions. I want answers." His eyes pierced her. Speaking more on his disposition as opposed to what he had said.

She patted her robes, dodging his gaze once more. "Stay low and most of all, do not garner the attention of those we may encounter."

Thavan offered a condescending verbal spat in return. "If my coming here could have jeopardized this mission then I should not be here. What were you thinking if this weighs so heavy upon your shoulders?" His words were deeper and more cruel than intended.

She blinked once. Her mouth hung agape. Sharp white teeth lay just behind her parted lips. "Do you take me for a fool? Is that it? I have resided over thousands in my time on this wretched planet. All those who have rallied under me have come to realize I have their best interests at heart."

"Good." He chimed in. "Yet how are you to know the interests of the skaven coincide with my own?"

"Can't you let your walls down for but one moment and quit this rigid officer attitude? When we are alone you are a different man but when you are out in the field you become so stone cold. Need I remind you billions of lives are at stake here?"

Thavan wiped a spec of dirt from his pistol. Agitation grew within the pit of his stomach. "I answer to you Zenara. And I will continue to do so. But allow me to conduct myself in accordance with how I've been trained when we are out in the field. Weakness is the foundation that will harm us and especially, myself."

"You foolish man." She chastised. "Perhaps if you weren't so goddamned hotheaded the incident between you and your fellow humans would have gone unnoticed and those men who entrusted their lives to you would be alive today."

The exact second those words exited her mouth, Zenara regretted ever speaking. This would do nothing but form a deeper wedge between them that was only recently starting to lessen.

"Thavan...I-I'm." Her voice squeaked and quaked in fear.

The human was visually stunned. He recoiled to her words but stood firm. How could she have known what went down that day? To this day Thavan never explained the bigger picture to her. It was something he shoved aside for now. What she said brought the weight of his pain back upon him and nullified all else.

"Had you been there..." He growled, "..you'd have known it was I who sounded the retreat before it went to hell." A shimmer of wetness lined his grey orbs. Thavan turned his back on Zenara and left her.

She stood in that room, alone, and disgusted with herself. "You stupid rat. All that trust you gained, gone, forever..."

Left to herself, Zenara had no time to brood over her mistake for the vehicle came to a violent and unexpected stop. The backup lights within flickered. Zenara was flung forward. The full weight of her body smashed into the door. The gears at the front shrieked and wailed as they slowed down while the engine puttered its last gasp at life until an unsettling stillness surrounded her.

The mechanical assist to the door was a no go. Zenara clawed at the frame to no avail. Dissatisfaction turned to anger. She raised her staff and pointed at the frame. A sharp flick of the wrist ignited a glowing light from the end of her black and blue staff. The door creaked and groaned until it snapped back into its base. Another tremor erupted sending a shock-wave of energy smashing into the small fleshy mortals.

Zenara braced herself against the opening and bellowed, "Status!"

Her fellow pack members had not fared as well as her. Each and every one of them were flung from their seats. Ziv lay on his stomach within the middle of the walkway. Thavan launched into Teeshna and Neeshi. The three of them awkwardly struggled to separate.

A sudden crackle of static echoed through the intercom. A slightly synthesized voice resembling Varron's came through. Zenara's ears twitched and moved toward the sound.

"Ugh, you might just want to come take a look at this for yourself." Varron's usual gruff tone was amplified even further through the synthetic means of vocalizing.

Sorn helped Ziv to his feet then followed after Zenara. Thavan joined them as did the others while they dodged pieces of gear scattered across the floor.

Zenara ripped the door open with her bare hands and entered the front facing hull of the Treader. Varron turned to regard the growing crowd behind him. His hands hung idly on the steering wheel. "Look for yourselves." He stated with an air of finality to him.

A hole in the earth was visible. The vehicle teetered on the edge of a grand chasm thrusting deep into the core of the world. On high above the earth split in two and drenched the chasm in life bringing warmth from the sun down upon them. Gusts of wind blew downward uplifting dancing particles of sand and dust into the bleak abyss below.

Large fissures marred the ancient landscape. Rocky crags and outcrops jutted out in small formations around the chasm. These served as the only means of travel to whatever was down there. One who was gifted in light feet and trained in the arts of climbing could hope to best such an obstacle.

"My transponder is suffering dearly. Whatever is at the bottom of this chasm knocked the vehicle offline. And I mean dead-dead! Had I not got the bastard up and running again we'd have plummeted to our deaths below. Whatever this is Zenara, I believe it is down there." Varron pointed over the window and down below for extra emphasis.

"Then what are we waiting for? Proceed!" Exclaimed a manic and fur raised Zenara.

"Now-now wait just a moment."

With raised hands Varron turned around and reached into his pocket. A lone match now sat between his fingertips. He struck said match against his breastplate and reached into the console of the machine. Out came a cigar. The flames ignited the leaves of this Clan Grozen brand. A red cherry burned glowing embers at the tip. Varron blew into the match and snuffed it of life. Smoke puffed from the end as he placed the match into a waste bin.

The white seer eyed the driver with contempt. It was best to speak now. "Whatever's down there almost kicked-kicked my system offline and nearly killed us."

Varron placed the rim of the cigar against his lips and pulled a long drag. Through the crease of his lips the smoke escaped into wispy patches that floated around the irritated skaven. "I'm fearin' the lower we go it may sap-blast this hunk of scrap of all its worth. Lord knows she feasts on warpstone like a nurgle zealot at a rot buffet. This bitch is cantankerous. One more blast like that and we'll be dead in the water...er sand. Whatever is damaging our systems must be contained 'fore I can retrieve you six. Zenara, you specialize in magic. Contain the damn thing and the rest 'ill fall into place."

He nodded assuredly against Zenara's stern gaze. Almost as if he was confirming with himself along with her.

"Alright, say we do as you suggest, how do we arrive at the bottom unscathed? No amount of rope within these walls could hope to get us even halfway down there."

"I'm glad you asked." He said with a smile clenched around that cigar.

"Do you see that ledge off yonder?" Varron pointed beyond for her convenience.

"Yes." She said firmly.

"Well, it is a stairwell carved into the rock itself. Must of been from many years ago. You should be able to make use of it. And if it falls short of your destination, use the rope for the remainder of the trip."

"We won't need no rope." Uttered Teeshna.

"Yes-yes." Added her brother. "We're born climbers."

Teeshna looked to her commanding officer. "With your permission, we will begin our descent now and perform reconnaissance."

"Permission granted." Declared their leader. "Under no circumstances are you to engage. Report what you see as you see it and nothing more."

They bowed their heads in reverence to Zenara.

"Wait!" Demanded Varron. "Before we left our home, I made a stop to our Skryre Engineers. The farsqueeker is now operational."

He banged on a compartment in the center console. 7 metallic headsets appeared, bearing the color palette that is Clan Grozen.

"Farsqueeker? What's that?" Asked Thavan. Varron gripped one of them and held it out on display for Thavan. A set of leather straps encased around a soft metallic headband wrapped around the users skull and right ear. A rigid but effective means to keep it in place. On the left ear was a singular speaker with a black cord and a microphone on the end. A fresh coat of black paint kept it looking sleek in appearance. On the outside emblazoned on the right outer earpiece was the Grozen logo.

Thavan reached out to the bizarre contraption and gripped it in his hand. "It's is communication device. It transmits what is said between those who are using the device and tuned in on our frequency. So long as we are linked up we can all maintain communication between one another. I've already taken the liberty to link our frequencies together."

"So I just place it on my head and that's it?" Thavan asked blankly, if a little hesitantly out of fear of ignorance.

"No, not quite. Flip the switch below the microphone."

"The..." Thavan looked for an answer to what the microphone was.

Before he could utter but one more word, Varron interjected, "The long thing you speak into."

"Ah, okay."

Thavan flipped the switch. Lights flickered on and a soft static echoed from the earpiece. The Grozen emblem ignited on the outer side, emanating a deep blue. It slowly faded and went back to its regular appearance.

"Here, let me show you. Put it on."

Thavan complied and struggled, trying to fit it over his hat was not working out for the skaven witch hunter. Having become rather frustrated, he discarded the hat and place the mic on his head. Varron gripped one and followed after Thavan. A few moments passed and he waited for it to come online.

"Can you hear me, Vanamar?"

Thavan's eyes widened. There was a delay for sure but that telltale sign of a static infused voice coming through the headset and mirroring Varron's voice was astounding.

"By the hammer! I truly had no preconception that something of this nature existed." His awe turned into a wide grin at the prospect of more technology to use against the coming invaders. Thavan was delighted.

Varron handed Thavan his hat. "Look at 'em. With a grin like that, you'd think he was the first skaven whom invented the doom wheel!"

A few forced laughs echoed among the group. Thavan disregarded the joke and placed his hat where it belongs.

"Alright, we know what to do. Put your headsets on and if we are fortunate, we'll be gone before the others take notice." Zenara's words were the product of wishful thinking. This is something Thavan knew. Whether he fought beside his fellow man or the furry skaven, every mission ended bloody for the fallen witch hunter.

Thavan made haste for the door. His fist balled and pressed the release button. Gears squeaked and groaned as the door opened and the exterior ladder pressed down to ground level.

A wave of hot, stagnant air walloped the human across the face, sapping any moisture from his bare skin. It was a dry caress. A warm welcome from the desert herself. Throughout Thavan's short life he had only known the temperate climate of his own lands and the caverns below. They were welcoming and cool, but this, this was stifling!

Beads of sweat gradually formed around his brow. He stepped off the supporting ladder and touched the sandy ground below. Teeshna and Neeshi soon followed after the human. Before he knew it Neeshi had gripped his shoulder and leaned into the human. "We are watching over you, Thavan. Call us and our blades-weapons will-will be at thy side."

"Yes-yes." Reassured Teeshna with her silky smooth voice. "And as you mentioned in our last assignment, be-be careful."

Thavan nodded as the duo moved past him and scouted along the rim of the crater. The outside was a dry, oppressive land. Hardly any life lived in this arid wasteland. Thavan walked to the edge and kicked a rock down into the crater. It launched so far below he could no longer make out the drop.

Sorn exited the vehicle followed by Zenara who was carrying a stack of maps with her. Sorn strode past Thavan but not before ramming his shoulder into the mans backside.

"Best watch yourself, Thavan, one wrong step and you might lose your balance. Don't think I'll risk my fur to save you."

Thavan stared at the skaven with contempt in his eyes. He'd be lying if he told the others he had concern for this skaven's life. Thavan would not worry himself if Sorn stumbled and fell over the edge. In fact, he believed he'd gladly offer that little nudge to seal his fate forevermore. Still, no matter how deeply his resentment ran, he would never act upon those feelings. Long before his current situation he met many men who were no different than this skaven. Never in his life could he break his code. They were in this together. It's what differentiated him from so many before.

Zenara walked past Thavan and into shade. She laid the maps out for her to peruse. Her disinterest was apparent in the majority of said maps. None of them intrigued her as much as a lone one sitting in the corner, held down by rocks so it would not blow away.

"Teeshna, Neeshi, come here."

Their ears flicked backward to the sound of her voice. They followed after her and gazed at the map as she pointed at the many options they might utilize to their advantage.

The moment Ziv popped out of the Death Treader. Thavan recognized the skaven then turned to the uneven path below. In that sort of armor there was only one destined path for him.

"Hey everybody, I know I am not the one in charge of this operation..."

Sorn was quick to interject. "And yet you see fit to voice your insignificant opinion. Go on, we're listening."

Thavan ignored his attempt at getting underneath his skin. "For Ziv's safety and Varron's, I think it best he stay behind. This purpose is twofold; if our gunner and pilot is attacked, he has assistance. And well, just look at him. Even if we make it down that pit, there's no telling we'd be able to extract him. I don't want to see any lives lost today. Were we fortunate enough to dig from the bottom of the chasm, my opinion would be different."

Zenara raised her eyebrow and looked from the pit to Ziv. "That...would be appropriate. Ziv, you're on guard duty."

The poison wind globadier bowed his head and accepted the order. Sorn grew further agitated by this scene and how it played out. Now they were following the orders of a human!

"Where will you draw the line, Zenara?"

A spark of unbridled fury blew across her eyes. She knew immediately what Sorn was implying.

"Why are we listening to the orders of a human? These decisions should be made before he needs to open his trap. What next, Zenara? We usurp Lord Grodmoor and enact a human leader? Given the fact you dote around him as a lost fawn, I see the correlation between the two."

Zenara was upon him swiftly. Fury and hellfire reigned down on the unsuspecting skaven. She cracked the staff against the backside of his leg where no armor touched flesh. The Grozen Warlord fell onto his back just in time for Zenara to jab her balled fist into his throat, denying the warlord his breath. He clawed at his throat in ragged gasps. Tears formed and fell from his eyes.

Zenara pointed the staff at his face. Purple mist swirled from the center mass. It was at this moment she neared the edge of no return. "You speak treason!" She raged in malice and fury.

Sorn gasped through uneasy breaths. "I only speak what I see as I see it. As you have always asked of me. Have you forgotten who you are? The lines between humanity and your own species have blurred. Where do you stand? For I know where I."

"This is jealousy, is it not? You are jealous of what you cannot have. From the time I denied you prior to Thavan's entry into our world you have become a pest. We will never be. I'd sooner perish than let your rotten seed enter me. My womb shall never bear your children. You are beneath me. Come to know your place within the echelons of this grand empire. Or I will kill you. A promise I'll hold true." She growled a low throaty grumble.

The rising flair of her temper cooled. She flicked the staff backward. The colors dispersed and silence pervaded the pack.

Zenara walked to the edge of the crater. A gust of hot wind swayed against her robes, blowing them outward. The appearance of her long frame with those swirling robes gave her an almost ethereal look to her otherwise natural form.

Ziv walked forward and offered aid to his fallen comrade. Sorn ignored his gesture and stood on his own. He walked past Ziv and remained silent.

"My loyalty will always and forever be to Grozen. That commitment will end when these lungs fail to draw another breath. My relationship to Thavan is of my own discretion on how I see fit to work with him. Until you and the majority of those who bear the mark of Grozen learn to cope with others, we cannot hope to win this war. He is an ally and until you see that for yourself, we are destined to lose." Her words were cold but uttered truth and offered that which he failed to understand. A reality some of her kind seemingly refused to grasp.

Teeshna and Neeshi avoided this conflict by scouting on ahead. If forces below were listening in then they would have undoubtedly heard that commotion above. If this is the case then the assassins must be two steps ahead of their foes.

Thavan followed after them down the spiraling path to their destination below. Teeshna leaped gracefully across a drop off from a cave in many years ago. Her brother followed after but had not shown the grace and finesse she exhibited. The duo turned to Thavan and waited expectantly.

The jump had not concerned the Grozen witch hunter. It was his unsteady balance that troubled the human and deterred him from pressing forward. His feet touched the uneven stairs below. The drop off led down several hundred feet. The jump from above to down at their side of the stairwell may require a running start on his part.

"Trust us?" Teeshna asked. Her eyebrow rose and she smirked.

"Yes-yes, into the waiting arms of two gutter runners. What a risk." He implied in a snarky manner.

"You're not helping dammit."

"Oh come now you delicate flower. Where is-was your lack of fear, human? Have you lost it?"

That was enough for Thavan to push him over the edge of no return. They were taunting him and there was no way he would go down quietly. The witch hunter backed away several feet and bolted forward. At the edge he kicked off from the safety of level ground. His body launched over the gap and flew through the air. All seemed to go according to plan, that is until his feet touched the rocky stairs. Balance was a thing of the past. He felt his world shake and his heart enter his mouth. The human teetered backward on the edge of death.

Just as an assassin can claim life, so may they guide it out of the waiting grasp of eternity. Teeshna and Neeshi gripped him before he fell backward and pulled Thavan out of harms way. He quickly gripped them for support and pulled onto them. Thavan's pulse slowed as he looked into the eyes of the older sister.

"That's twice now that I have pulled you from death, Thavan." She stated with a whimsical smile.

"Indeed. I'll have to return the favor if possible."

She merely nodded a cursory glance at her human ally and continued on their path down. Thavan had other plans. "Say, before the others make their way down here, may I talk to you both about something that has been on my mind?"

"Does it pertain to their previous outburst?" Pried Teeshna.

"No."

"Proceed."

"I am not sure how to say this so I will just come out and say it as is. I thank you both for giving me the benefit of the doubt. I have done nothing to warrant your support. And yet, the two of you treat me as an equal. In my infinite wisdom there were many internal struggles I battled over. I pushed back due to my stubbornness and admitted hatred I once harbored for your kind. I cannot change the past but what I can do is alter the present. I want to be your ally, someone you can trust. And should you look to me for aid, do not hesitate."

Teeshna regarded her brother who in turn smiled playfully. "This is what the pack-squad does, Thavan. It works together as one cohesive unit. We are only as strong as our weakest link. You do not have the honor of that title no longer. Family looks out for one another."

Indeed they do. Thavan said to himself. His immediate thoughts had no time to flourish. Zenara from above cracked her staff. Her feet lifted from the ground. She levitated across the gap and landed with the others. Thavan and the other three now continued downward.

Teeshna was the first to near the bottom. She stood over a ledge eyeing the bottom of the chasm for any threats. There was no sign of anything out of the ordinary.

A sandy colored scorpion stirred from her movement and rushed onto a small outcrop with stinger at the ready. The warmth of the sun heated up the angry little critter. Teeshna extracted a small blade and removed its appendage in one swipe. She then pulled out a small circular leather pouch with a reservoir. Teeshna milked the tail of its venom and placed the satchel back against her hip. She discarded the tail and eyeballed the defenseless scorpion. A trail of blood followed behind the small creature. It made an attempt to escape. Teeshna paid no mind to its pincers. She scooped it up and threw it into her mouth, cracking through its carapace in seconds. Orange colored guts sloppily spilled out from her muzzle. She licked it clean and sighed contentedly as her brother walked beside her.

"None for me?" A sense of sadness pervaded the young males words.

"Sorry. Too gooey. Not enough crunch-crunch. The taste would not suite your palette."

"Making an assumption older sister?" His cockeyed glance did all the talking. He wanted that scorpion!

Teeshna intended to entertain her brother. The earth had something else in store for another tremor struck below and alongside the cliff. Teeshna caught herself before a short flight below would cost her dearly. An end to her career assured but stymied by her quick reflexes. Luckily for herself an assassin must always be light footed and quick on her feet.

Some of the others were launched onto the ground but far enough away from the edge that the chance of falling off was negligible.

Teeshna intended to press on. A sight within the chasm forced her to pause and reevaluate her actions. A pyramid, partially destroyed and laying lopsided in the chasm glowed an ominous hue. Was this the thing that shut their vehicle offline? It had to be Teeshna believed.

The rest of the pack neared her when she said aloud, "Eyes ready. I've found what your benefactor sought. It is what is enabling these tremors."

Zenara walked past Teeshna, validating it for herself.

Zenara tapped on her farsqueek. "You hear that, Varron. You're right. There's a pyramid down here and we think it might be the culprit. We'd be trapped here...Varron?"

Static and crackling feedback came in short waves over the headphone. Zenara, dismayed and concerned flipped the switch. The stillness of silence welcomed her in open arms.

A layer of sand blew from where they stood to the chasm below. A gentle breeze of hot air pushed against them as if goading them forward. Thavan raised his collars over his ears to deter sand from entering.

"If I may." He said. "Whatever is down there could be any number of ghastly hellspawn. And our escape is in question. You know what that sounds like to me?"

Thavan watched and waited for a show of hands. When none spoke, he answered for them. "It sounds like another day in the life of a witch hunter. I thought when you plucked me from Vanmeek my days of suicide missions had ended."

Teeshna and her brother quietly chuckled under their breath and pressed toward their destination.

"You signed up for the wrong squad-pack Thavan. We face the welcoming embrace of death day by day." Neeshi said with a deadpan matter of fact tone.

"Exactly. Nothing in life would come easy." A reality Thavan knew all too well.

Zenara opened her mouth to talk to her human compatriot. At the sight of her need to communicate, he had other plans in store. Thavan walked past her and followed after the two assassins. She knew she deserved that, but this coldness is something she wished dearly would come to a close.

Within minutes, the five of them stood between the divide of the great chasm. The damage sustained on the pyramid from the collapse was greater than initially perceived upon first glance. The eastern portion was blown out and cracking down the middle. Day by day this tomb will become rubble at some point in time and there will be nothing left.

Thavan whistled at the sight of the destruction before him. "One must wonder how it survived such a fall. If only the people back home could see this."

"Perhaps it didn't fall." Offered Zenara.

"You have piqued my curiosity. Explain." He asked of her.

"Maybe the power within caused this chasm to form and the ground gave way to its unbridled power. I can feel even now as we draw close that the winds of magic grow stronger near its presence." A stark and possible looming truth of what lurked behind that pyramid.

It behooved Thavan to retrieve this nefarious vial and begone before others caught wind of their intentions. Too bad for them it was all about to come crashing down.

The five of them spread out and eyed their corners and kept a clear view of their exit. If an intruder were to arrive they must be prepared for a retreat.

Large boulders formed obstacles that the five scurried around. Beyond that their were obelisks strewn around the outer grounds of the pyramid as if paying homage to its majesty. Thavan noted there was no doorway into the structure. If there was, it wasn't visible to him or his allies. The gaping hole at the top presented an easy means of entry should all else fail.

Thavan was the first to pass the obelisks and near the great pyramid. It towered over the human. An immense structure that somehow survived countless years. Thavan was struck by it in awe. It was because of this sole reason he never noticed the obelisks pulsed and glowed a faint red hue.

"Stop!" Commanded Zenara.

Thavan was quick to obey. A distant sound, faint but audible ticked beneath the surface. From beyond the pyramid a creature scurried over a large boulder and looked at the five of them. Its pincers clicked, revealing themselves to be double the length of Thavan's torso. Eight beady black eyes focused on its soon to be meal. It scuttled on eight mighty legs, four upon either side of its swollen abdomen. Stretching beyond its abdomen erected a long tail with a red tip dripping vile venom from its harpoon-like bladed end. One stab from that blade with or without the venom would kill a man sized being.

It scuttled down the rock. The sandy colored skin offered natural camouflage among its surroundings. Upon closer inspection Thavan saw what lived beneath its swollen whitish sides of its abdomen. Juvenile scorplings writhed and squirmed underneath the mothers flesh.

Zenara lost her composure and snapped the end of her staff into the ground. Her sense of sanity cracked beneath the strain of constant battle after battle. Everything she sought in life ended in unending bloodshed. This reality came front and center when blue flames erupted around the feet of the sorceress. Her eyes glazed over in a bluish haze and her body lifted from the ground. The scorpion charged Thavan.

Zenara flung her hand down and spread her fingers apart. With her staff in the other, she pointed directly at the creature. A beam of blue light shot from the tip and passed through the leftmost obelisk, splitting it down the middle.

The scorpion lacked the foresight and knowledge to react. The beam pierced right down the middle, splitting the thing in two. Orange fluid spurted from its wound, gushing life force onto the sand. The abdomen burst open spilling the corpses of translucent milky white babies. The juvenile critters writhed within her oozing guts. A hot steamy mass of heat rose over the dying scorplings twitching corpses. They too, soon stilled.

Zenara's temple pulsed. She landed on the ground with arms at her side. The creature continually oozed blood and venom when a loud sound echoed from beneath the broken obelisk. A sharp crack followed. Something beneath them was coming alive.

"What did your outburst get us into?" Pondered Neeshi aloud with blade in hand.

Zenara ignored his question. Instead, she redirected their concern elsewhere. "You hear that! We are running on borrowed time. Who can say for certain what will happen when it stops? We go now and end this before..." Words trailed off. Her voice abandoned her.

Hundreds of hands rose from beneath the sand. A macabre sight as the ground came alive and spread apart for their entry onto the scene. They were endowed with layers of mummified flesh spread taut over skeletal lithe frames. Their heads came next, covered in chain-mail coifs rusted over after years of neglect. Some still had eyes, milky and unblinking with slackened jaws and missing teeth. They surrounded the pack at every corner.

One in particular rose closest to Zenara. It was wearing a coif and a cracked helm leaving the underside of its face visible. A layer of once royal blue cloth robes were draped over its person. Time was neither kind nor gentle to the faded moth-chewed garment.

Each mummified corpse or skeleton carried a weapon of some sort. Spears, swords, and axes had all entered into the mix. And when the last one rose from the ground below, none of them made an attempt to kill or maim the interlopers. They watched from afar taking in breaths of air through patchy, dried lungs. A nonexistent necessity. Perhaps it was their way of feeling alive once more?

The one who was without a doubt calling the shots ended the standoff by saying this, "Children from the north, why have you come so far from the safety of your home? Man and skaven united as one. That is an unusual sight. Is it not?"

To Thavan, it spoke clear and concise but there was an unmistakable accent that made its words not have quite the same finesse as a native born speaker. It was masculine in tone and form.

Zenara played with her staff and watched the mummy with ill intent. "I require what is within that pyramid. If you value this planet you will grant us access."

He turned his head from side to side as if considering her demands. "And if you value your lives you'll return from whence you came. There's no reason to die today."

Zenara scoffed, clenching her staff close to her breast. "No no no no no!" She stammered.

"If you do not turn back now, all of you will die a second time. That is how this journey ends."

"You must do as you see fit and so will I." It stated darkly and not in the slightest intimidated by her words.

Zenara glanced beside her. Thavan stood close by. He nodded, offering her his silent approval to the imminent battle about to take place. Thavan unsheathed his falchion and gripped his firearm.

Zenara would not let this alliance fall to the wayside. She needed bodies and if this was the only path forward then so be it.

The White Seer broke out in a sprint and stabbed her staff into the air. A flash of light and a bolt of lightning spun from the rod. The bolt redirected through the staff and aimed squarely for the mummy's chest. He made no attempt to dodge the projectile. It was almost as if he welcomed death.

The undead had a trick up his own sleeve. His hand outstretched. Sand rose from the ground and spun up and along the length of his arm and into the air manifesting a staff of his own in the shape of a scorpion tail with a ruby tip for a stinger. The sand dispersed as his hand clenched his new weapon.

A wall of hardened sand appeared at his behest and formed a barrier between himself and her, blocking the projectile with ease.

All hell broke loose before the barrier had fallen. Every single skaven went on the offensive. Brother and sister launched throwing daggers concealed within their robes. Sorn surged toward the closest, shoulder bashing the nearest foe and cleaving the other in two. Thavan fired upon those closest to him and Zenara. The ball traveled with pinpoint accuracy and religious zeal. It pierced the coif of a mummified corpse and blew out the back of its head. Patches of dried skin and cracked bone flew with the remains.

Zenara spun her staff through her fingertips in a circular motion. It traveled at such unreal speeds the weapon seemed to be a blur within her hands. When she cracked it down against the sand seismic energy pulsed and split the ground open, aiming to swallow up the other magical user.

He knew what was to come. The barrier of sand between the two dissolved. The mummy tapped its staff and took flight. Its comrades near him had not faced a similar fate They were swallowed up and buried beneath tons of rock.

Thavan covered Zenara as two more made haste to dispatch the sorceress. Swords clashed and clanged together. Another, aimed for his side. It missed as Thavan pulled a short sword from its sheath and blocked both attempts on his life.

He screamed in violent rage. Strength bolstered and his hatred only grew stronger. Their victory seemed imminent. Thavan swerved the bottom of his boot against an opening of visible flesh right at the kneecap. Armor had rusted away and the perfect opening had become present. Dried, cracked flesh hadn't fared well to a pissed off witch hunter. The bone splintered and jutted from the skin. The mummy fell forward, losing its sword. Its only means of defense.

Thavan turned his attention elsewhere. The falchion came crashing down at the wrist of his second assailant. A clean cut guaranteed. The hand went flying as Thavan embedded the sword into his chest. He then drove it upward and out, splitting the skull in two. Old, dried up brain matter slopped out of the cavity in chunks.

Thavan turned to the downed skeleton and mashed his foot against its skull. The undead tried to resist his assault but this was for naught. The second blow sent his foot through the cavity of the skull and lodged within. Its hands slackened and Thavan yanked back but found his foot was now stuck inside. An unfortunate turn of events for him for the mage had noticed this slip up.

The scorpion staff glowed. Another volley of magic came hurtling his way. The sand formed pillars of spikes cascading toward him. Thavan watched his world pass on by. The taste of impending doom tugged at him like his dead comrades at the chaos realm.

He ripped at his foot and tried to dislodge it to no avail. He then tried to drag it but the angle he stood made it nigh impossible to move thanks to the weight of the armor. The world slowed to a trickle. Thavan shielded himself with his arms and covered his face.

Zenara flung herself in front of him and spread her arms and legs outward. She covered him from the blast. A white light poured from her and blinded all those who looked, denying even Thavan the truth. The sand shards hit an invisible wall and cracked into pieces.

The winds of magic pulsed and weaved through the air, empowering the sorceress with untold power. She rose into the sky. Her eyes glossed over into a dark but vibrant blue. Magic pulsed through her staff and spiraled blue shards across her body. A beam of bluish white light exploded from her weapon. The mummy skirted across the sky, dodging the blast only barely. It shot into the tip of the chasm and sent a boulder careening downward.

As if on cue, both took flight and battled in the sky. Thavan realized she protected him by risking her own life. He looked skyward and watched in awe as they danced through the air.

He freed his leg when Sorn had become outnumbered. Had he witnessed this before he came to know these skaven, he'd turn a blind eye. That all changed once he spent all these months living beside them. He lived, broke bread, and only just recently unveiled a sense of camaraderie with these unusual people. In that bar Thavan had never experienced friendship like that whilst he lived with his own people. Sorn was a thorn in his side but even he had a purpose and Thavan would not allow his light to be snuffed out.

Sorn watched from the corner of his eye one of the bastards had got past his defenses and meant to drive a spear through his rib cage. An attack he had no means to counter.

Thavan fired his musket, blowing a chunk of patchy flesh and skull onto Sorn's shoulder. The spear dropped out of the mummy's hand. It slumped forward and cracked its head against a rock. Nasty brown fluids oozed from its skull like that of coagulated milk.

Thavan fired a succession of rounds until the firearm ran empty. He cleared the way ending their lives a second time. Thavan scooped up an old shield from one of the fallen, hearkening back to his days within the arena. Utilizing whatever was available could spell the difference between life and death. Thavan pressed himself against Sorn's back.

"Why are you here man-thi...er human? Haven't my words dissuaded you?"

Thavan grunted, the taste of gritty sand in his mouth was a first for him. And he didn't like it.

"If we don't set aside our differences the chaos will win. If there is any hope this allegiance has any chance of success then I must cast aside my qualms and that includes those I have with you."

"You sound like Zenara." He scoffed.

"I am not her. And neither was it her influence that brought me to you. I failed my men before. I will not fail those with me now."

Sorn had no response for the human. He waited in silence as more of the undead swarmed around them. "Alright, Thavan, let's make this into a game. The one who claims the most lives is victorious. What say you?"

"A meaningless gesture; you've already lost."

Sorn snickered. A thin trickle of blood dripped from the side of his muzzle. Challenge accepted.

# # # #

On the opposite end of the fight, Teeshna and Neeshi dodged and weaved through the battlefield in a dance of death. Throats were slit and bones snapped. All around them bodies crumbled. Weak points such as the heel had been exploited. The undead mindlessly groaned and shuffled along, pulling themselves with severed tendons.

Neeshi gasped. Matted fur and droplets of sweat exhibited physically what no word needed to express. Exhaustion plagued the young assassin.

"Damn them!" He cursed, rushing beside his older sister with throwing dagger in hand.

A spear thrust forward, intending to impale Teeshna. Pinpoint accuracy and inhuman reflexes saved the skaven from death. She ducked beneath the weapon, flinging a dagger through the air only sparing a cursory glance. It tore right through the cracked bone, severing the head from the shoulders.

"An enemy that reveals no fear-terror at the sight of dead-dead allies grants us very little room to demoralize. At the loss of morale they feel nothing! My little brother that only means we-we must strive harder!"

Neeshi believed his sister. No matter how many fell before them, more rose from beneath the sands.

Neeshi turned to the sky. Zenara flung herself through the air. Like a shooting star she blasted through and above the chasm. Her power was unlike anything the pack had ever seen. She fired bolts of energy so immense they blasted through the foundation of the earth, sending debris hurtling through the chasm. He knew if the dead refrained from claiming their lives, then this entire crater was guaranteed to become their tomb due in no small part to Zenara's madness.

Beneath Sorn body parts and corpses lay strewn across the sand. The same could be said of the witch hunter. Skulls littered the ground, crushed and splintered from Thavan's shield and sword. Limbs hung loosely upon emaciated bodies filling empty eye sockets with rolling waves of debris and sand. Weapons, fists, even teeth and tail were utilized in this brutal tug of war.

Sorn proved his worth time and time again, utilizing every means of fighting at his disposal. His tail dragged along the earth till an opening came forth. He swung the armored tail into the spine of a skeleton, splitting the foe in two. That is not to say this was his most violent trait for the next one was an unlucky mummy who met a pair of teeth digging within his face. Sorn tore back, ripping dried flesh and the jaw bone along with it. Sorn crunched the bone in his maw and spat out the saliva covered remains. The champion of Grozen roared to the sky above. Finesse and brutality melded as one.

As if things could not grow worse for the pack, more scorpions appeared from behind the rocks. Tails bulged with venom, aching to stab the ill fated mortals. Were they drawn to this place, commanded by forces greater than their primitive brains? One could not say but it had not bode well for Thavan and the others.

Zenara reveled in the power unleashed before her pent up rage and fury. This aching release had come not a moment to soon. Her world, her very reality before her lay stained in the bodies of those who faced The White Seer. Zenara's life quivered in crimson lies and numerous deaths. But no matter how far she went, even unto the edge of the world, conflict and strife and death followed her like a shadow always at her heels. And if this is what was required of her to see her species survive for countless eons, she'd gladly march onward. Still, she pondered as a spear of liquid hot white light surged past her, singeing the tips of her fur, how much longer would it be before she slipped?

The gap between the two lessened until they were within staffs length. Magical energy cracked and snapped between the two. Zenara clawed at his throat, tearing into his rusted coif and dragging the helm over his eyes. The mummy responded, jabbing his staff into her stomach. Zenara heaved. Blood expelled with each cough.

The two immolated in waves of energy bouncing off their bodies. Zenara drove her staff upward and into his chest. He deflected the spear with his own. Both collided and erupted a pulse of seismic energy so profound the firmament shook. A sonic boom followed moments later, swallowing the two in unending waves of magic. It continually expanded outward from the epicenter absorbing all within its wake. Mini tornado's of sand swept up and cascaded down the chasm. Rocks broke from the divide and fell, crushing all those within its destructive wake.

Teeshna and Neeshi rushed to Thavan and Sorn, clearing a path and a direct link for them to rendezvous at the pyramid.

"What is happening!" Screamed Thavan through the ear shattering display of power.

Teeshna looked skyward. The heavens were crashing down upon them. "Zenara has pulled from a magical source, possibly the pyramid itself! She may have just killed us all!"

Thavan looked at her mouth, reading her lips for the faintest sound that had no longer existed. He felt the warmth of a trickle trail down his ears. He reached and tapped the fluid and pulled his hand to his face. Blood.

From the epicenter the light faded and a lone figure crashed downward, colliding into the planet like an asteroid. It smacked into the top of the pyramid and slumped over the edge. It was Zenara!

The other figure, consumed by endless energy, split apart, raining down from the heavens into pieces.

Thavan moved with a sense of urgency. Her location was his destination. No matter what she said, Thavan could not bear the thought of losing her. He prayed to God that she was still among the living.

At the foot of the stairs, Thavan stalled. He still had a commitment to his fellow allies. Sorn gripped his shoulder as Thavan turned. "Retrieve Zenara and whatever is-is beneath the structure. Our second in command needs you. We will cover you! Now go! That is an order!" Sorn had not minced words. He spoke with authority that settled any doubt in the humans mind.

Thavan nodded before rushing up the stairs. Boulders came down, cracking against the surface of the pyramid, breaking off chunks with each hit. Thavan ducked and weaved up the path in defiance against all odds. The world appeared to be ending. But not today. Not for Thavan Vanamar. And not for his pack either.

Down below the three stood guard at the foot of the stairs. It was their duty to guard him at all cost. More continued to rise from the ground even as the world caved inward. All three wore tattered clothing and dented armor coated in their blood and sweat. Their bodies screamed for relief that had not come.

Neeshi extracted dual curved blades, short and serrated from his belt. Teeshna had split her main weapon in two. She now stood on bent legs aiming forward with a spear gathered from one of the fallen. Sorn continued to rely on dented shield and cracked sword. As the masses lumbered in unison toward their enemies it was now up to Thavan to conclude this.

Each step taken on this lopsided structure sent burning waves through his muscles. This trend persisted until he stopped and stood over her. All around him chaos and insanity reveled. The world was torn asunder but at that moment Thavan put aside everything for her.

He knelt beside her and pulled her into his arms, allowing her waist to rest on his bent legs. "If you are in there then listen to me. We need you. I need you..."

Thavan gripped her wrist and felt the faintest pulse. "I can't see this through without you. I beg of thee to come back. For me...for us." Thavan cradled her in his arms, rocking the skaven in his tender embrace.

Was it the sound of his words, the echoing of his need for her that stirred the skaven to the real world? Or was it her drive that kept her coming back? A question that would remain unanswered is the only truth offered.

Her eyes opened. A hazy and unresponsive face stared at his grey orbs. She looked at every detail of his features. It seemed as if she had never seen the man before. A vapid, empty expression warped by a looming mindlessness made the human fear for the worst. Thavan reached downward and cupped his hand around the back of her neck, hoisting her up and closer to him.

"Zenara, hey." He spoke softly. "If you are there then I beg of you to return. All around me there is nothing but death and destruction. But you, you are a light in this tired souls eyes. Grozen needs you. I don't want to live in this world without you."

This emptiness encompassed the girls features, stretching wide as the desert before them. Zenara eyed Thavan only briefly. A parting glance before her mind picked apart what he had asked of her. His pleas had not fallen on deaf ears. Her eyes shimmered and twinkled. What was only a mere reflection of the woman before him had suddenly altered as she blinked repeatedly. Her brain scrambled for the truth. Zenara closed her eyes tight and shivered. Her face shook and body twitched. This would not conclude until she opened her eyes a final time and it all came back to her.

"Thavan!" She bellowed hoarsely. The skaven rose upward sitting over the edge leading down the side of the pyramid.

Thavan's expression revealed how relieved he was to see her back to her natural state. Time was fleeting and every second was precious. His happiness and joy must be tucked away. It was his duty to remain calm and help her see this through.

"Shhh." He hushed her. "The mummy is no more. But time is against us. We must end this before this divide buries us."

Zenara scanned the sides of the chasm to the peak above. Her eyes stalled when they watched the carnage below as her fellow skaven gathered together to fend off the hordes and buy them time.

"We have to..."

Thavan pressed his hand down onto Zenara's shoulder. She flinched. "We have to do but one thing and that is find that damned elixir. They are buying us the time to end this endeavor once and for all. And the sooner this is finished, the likelihood of them surviving can only rise."

Thavan reached down and offered her a hand. She accepted. The two clasped together and Thavan pulled her up.

He signaled for Zenara to follow. They both moved to a ledge leading down within the pyramid. It was the only spot he could safely drop into without breaking a leg.

Thavan lowered himself on bent knees, looking for any traps when Zenara said this, "Thavan, about what was said earlier."

The witch hunter shrugged but stayed in the same spot. "Forget it. This isn't the time or place to speak about that subject." And just like that, he was gone. Thavan dropped into the interior of the pyramid, avoiding the topic altogether. For now, that is.

Zenara followed after him. Her leap revealed a level of finesse and grace leaving much to be desired by her human counterpart. His skill paled in comparison.

All around him the human surveyed for a trap that never revealed itself. Neither had the item the vampires dispatched them for materialize.

To make matters worse, the interior was in disarray and damaged as badly as the exterior if not greater. This did not bode well for the elixir. Some pillars lay lopsided and smashed into the walls of the pyramid. Any more sustained damage and this whole thing might collapse.

Something worth noting was each pillar and wall that had not faced the brunt of the damage still had old hieroglyphs etched into the foundation. Save for the hole in the ceiling, light was nonexistent and the chance of discerning what those glyphs meant was nigh impossible. The hot rays of the sun formed an outline where the light shone brightest but beyond that hole in the ceiling there was very little brightness within.

Thavan ripped an old torch from its base. Zenara touched down beside him.

He reached out with the unlit torch. "Anywhere else such as my homeland and this log would've rotted away in the rainy humid climate. From here in this dry desert, it is perfectly preserved."

Zenara pressed the tip of the staff outward and ignited the torch. "Usable too." She added.

Thavan nodded just in time for another tremor to shake the foundation from which they stood. The force was stronger than expected and sent the human careening against the wall. Thavan braced himself with the torch aimed away from him. The breath in his lungs fled when he made contact with the stone while Zenara tripped over herself and landed on her rump.

"Dammit, it's beneath us. We have to find a way down lower and now before this kills us."

Zenara pulled herself up and observed her human ally stop dead in his tracks. His eyes looked up and down repeatedly until he dragged himself forward and toward another hieroglyph untouched by the light rays above.

The drawing depicted the rise and fall of Neferata's people and their inevitable decline into what they'd become. The final drawing detailed the end of their mortality. A second birth and the ascension of the vampire species. The figure rose from a grave filled with blood, mouth agape and fangs bared.

"Those who delve in black magic shall be damned for eternity." Thavan claimed with zeal in his heart.

Thavan made his way down through the derelict dilapidated building. Through passages leading into dead ends and pitfalls filled with spikes, it was hazardous no matter which path one took. It served a purpose to deter those interested parties intending to plunder what might be within.

The witch hunter spotted another platform to drop down on. In his infinite wisdom he had not gauged the length of the drop nor factored in the age of the support beams. When his feet touched the ground his heart went into his mouth and frigid tingles ran the length of his body as he went through and into a new room.

The torch fell from his grasp, rattling across the floor. Thavan, panicked and yelled for help. A natural instinct in an unnatural situation. His back cracked into the ground. The impact told him he'd feel that by the morrow. Thankfully, there were no broken bones.

"Thavan!" Zenara cried out.

Thavan groaned but raised a thumbs up to his friend. "I'm alright, just knocked the wind out of me. Now come down. Don't make my mistake though."

Thavan swiped at the torch and pulled himself up just in time for her to drop to him.

A low and mechanical hum or gurgle chimed from deeper within this windowless room. Zenara considered their safety and was going to warn Thavan from proceeding. Thavan on the other hand disregarded all that. He pressed onward, growing impatient.

The further within it grew colder and colder. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. It almost felt like the very presence within this room was alive. A stagnant emptiness encompassed all around him and a metallic taste in the air soon followed.

Thavan stopped, pressing his heels firmly against the ground. For a moment there was only the sound of the flames crackling at the edge of his torch. It slowed his heart rate. In a short time he slowly pressed his hand outward, extending the reach of the light.

Had a trigger or mechanism been activated? All around him torches upon the walls ignited and brought the soft yellow warmth of light within the mysterious room. Thavan dropped his torch in bewilderment at the secret before him. Were it not for his clumsiness, he'd have never found this room tucked away from the eyes of the world.

Dead center within the room, floating on a small pedestal was a glass vial filled with a cerulean fluid. In the foreground, closest to Thavan was a round funnel with a reservoir leading down somewhere below the two.

Thavan was always sensitive to magic. It was a blessing and a curse. As he was about to walk forward, his mind and body screamed at him. Something was amiss.

"I suppose reaching out for it would end in a catastrophe, eh? Too easy huh." Zenara nudged Thavan, standing beside him.

"Only one way to find out." He chuckled and bent over gripping a piece of rubble between his gloved fingertips.

Thavan casually threw the thing across the air and over the vial. An immense wave of energy pulsed outward, nearly knocking the two from where they stood. It passed beyond the duo and grew in size until it crashed into the outside world just as before. As for the poor piece of rubble, it was smacked by a bolt of electricity and crumbled into dust on the floor.

"It appears that plan is out of the equation." Snickered Zenara.

"I don't have time for these damn riddles. God knows our time is out."

Zenara circled around the dish. "This is the key to our woes. But what goes in?" She raised a hand and sighed.

Without thinking, Thavan blurted, "Blood?"

Zenara pondered on his word for a few seconds. Her mind ruminated upon what he said. Struck by a revelation she turned to Thavan. "Exactly, you're right! By blood were they tainted. And by blood will they be freed."

"Human blood?" He asked with eyebrow raised.

She nodded in silence.

Thavan pulled a dagger from his hip and walked to the dish. "Well, there's only one way to find out."

Thavan doubted himself not once. He slid the blade against the palm of his hand and into his skin. A clean slice opened flesh. An offering of blood dripped from his hand and into the maw of the altar. Thavan squeezed his fist, drawing out more fluids oozing between his fingertips.

This bloodletting continued in silence. He did not grunt or grimace. Silently he eyed his hand whilst his life force drained into the dusty basin. This was the first time in a long time it had tasted blood. It hungered with the thirst of a thousand generations for that which kept a human alive. Blood was the key. Blood was everything.

Seconds passed by and nothing. As if testing the man and his patience the puzzle made no noise or cue to acknowledge they were correct. Thavan had started to doubt Zenara's theory. That doubt subsided when a low hum sounded and fizzled away. The vial dropped from the air and stood upright on the platform.

"That was...surprisingly easy." He echoed her thoughts.

The man had his doubts even now. Hesitantly, Thavan walked forward, past the invisible barrier and right to the vial waiting patiently for his retrieval. Thavan stood over it and realized what would happen should this return to his host. A dark thought passed by his subconscious. Something told him to smash it then and now. He resisted the urge and swiped the vial in his non bleeding hand. The decision was final.

"So, that's it huh?" He had spoken too soon.

Far in the distance, somewhere above ground a shrill horn roared across the desert to all corners of The Land of The Dead. Thieves came to claim what does not belong to them. And thieves such as Zenara and Thavan would be treated accordingly.

The two looked into one anothers eyes. The horn spoke for them. They had overstayed their welcome. Millions were coming and soon the might of the dead shall descend upon them.

Zenara gripped Thavan and flew them through the hole and out of the pyramid. Now the two stood back on the tip where they started.

The horn continually blared from somewhere beyond the sand dunes. Its screech held far greater implications than as a siren to alert their allies. The damage Zenara and the other mage inflicted on the land was now coming to a violent close. The ground shifted and the world would soon cave in. The horn beyond served as the catalyst.

Thavan bashed his hand against the farsqueek headset. "If you are out there Varron, now's the time to answer!"

The ones below pressured Thavan to look upon them. They divided the countless waves and conquered. A valiant effort, although futile. There would be no victory for any side when this is over.

"So good enough for you to join us, Thavan! We were worried sick. Yes-yes."

 _Was that Ziv?_ Asked an incredulous Thavan to himself. "Ziv, put Varron on the speak thing now!"

"Quit yer belly achin' Thavan. We can here yah. We were about to cast aside our own safety to find out what the hell is goin' on down there. Your voice is a welcome sound I assure you." Varron called through the speaker. A lighthouse in the coming darkness he was.

Thavan turned to Zenara and pressed the elixir into her hand. "This vial matters more than the rest of us. Use your magic to escape while you still can!"

Zenara stared at the human, flabbergasted at what he would suggest. She would not budge. "I am not leaving you here! The winds of magic have plummeted with the removal of that vial but that doesn't mean I cannot safely pluck you and I from this tomb! The others are natural climbers. You are a human. You will die if you go to their aid!" She plead in hope that he'd change his mind and see reason.

"I am not leaving them! You cannot expect this of me! I will not allow this failure to eclipse myself once more. You have to let me do this. For myself and the fallen men that I have failed. There is no time for discourse. I owe it to them. Let me right the wrong that has affected me all these years. They saved my life and it is only right that I return the favor. And Zenara...if I don't see you again...well, its been one hell of a ride."

His tone of voice and the way he carried himself made her believe this may actually be the last time she'd see him. And should this be it, she'd never have the chance again. What Zenara wished to say the most trickled between her fingertips and that all faded away and the opportunity vanished when she cried out, "Thavan, you can't! You'll die!"

Zenara gripped his arm, tearing at him to step away from the edge of no return. He pulled himself from her safety and moved down the pyramid, away from salvation and into the arms of damnation. Against all odds the man cast away his once spiteful and speciest mindset regarding the skaven. Only now had he seen they were no different than his fellow men on the surface. There was a correlation between the two. They were soldiers in his mind but most of all, they were his people. And he'd be damned if they died while he stood by.

Down the pyramid he ran, musket in hand with a pouch of balls and black powder funneling into the auto-loader.

Between loading, Varron came screeching across the headset again, "Thavan! Goddammit answer me! Damn-damn this infernal device!"

"I read you loud and clear! I had a hiccup back there but the device is working!"

"I don't know what you and the others have done, but the whole earth is caving in. I cannot reach the five of you under these conditions. I repeat, I cannot retrieve you. Scale the cliff and I'll pick you up on the surface! It is the only way!"

All of them heard what was said. This was their only chance.

Seven shots rested within his firearm. Seven shots and then there would be no use of this weapon anymore. Each ball must count.

"So good enough for you to join us, Thavan. Yes-yes!" The younger brother grinned while locked in blades between himself and one of the undead foot soldiers.

"We cannot fight them and we don't have enough time to go back the way we came! Are there any other options people!"

"By paw and clawed feet, we'll shave off a few minutes. Not enough to find the welcoming arms of safety." Teeshna heaved, ducking from a slash that would have sliced her breast and stomach open.

Thavan fired a bullet, blowing the skeletons head clean off.

"And now I owe you." She winked at her human ally. "This is why the assassin must improvise. We procured weapons before our departure. These weapons will scale these cliffs. Clear us an opening and we'll go in groups of two." Just as she finished Teeshna broke down into splits, dodging a scorpion tail aimed for her heart. Her black leather and cloth pressed taut against her ass and breasts accentuating the finer details of her feminine physique.

Rocks and boulders rained down upon them all. So many lay crushed beneath the debris and that seemingly wouldn't end as the chasm shifted. Whatever the assassins had up their sleeves must be effective if they believed it'd work. It was a chance Thavan placed his life on.

With renewed vigor, Thavan fired all six musket balls at the soft face of the scorpion. Orange blood spurted from the holes in its flesh. The carapace cracked against the speed and lethality of the rounds. Its mangled face and split eyeballs resembled a bowl of soup from an inn at an unsavory part of town Thavan once frequented. The beast collapsed on a pile of corpses as Thavan dropped the musket.

Bodies fell against the wrath of a scorned witch hunter. An opening is what they needed. And an opening is what they'd get. Thavan disregarded the safety he had while standing behind them when he ran in full speed down the middle, leaping over the felled scorpion and into the heat of combat.

The man screamed in blind rage and the world around him died. His mind and blade intertwined as one. A verdict in death enraptured the witch hunter and marshaled him forth into the killing grounds. The falchion slammed so hard into the deflecting dagger of a mummy that the wrist broke in two. Thavan pried harder with his weapon until the blade split in half and the falchion drove through rusted mail and dried skin. With his free hand at the ready he grabbed the enemies weapon and ran its own blade into its guts. The light in its magical eyes faded as it wilted and expired from this world.

Sorn barreled past Thavan and rammed the nearest mummy into the rocky wall with shield and blade. The bash and subsequent destruction of its body came down in waves of rage built up in Sorn's psyche. The skaven reveled in his volatile nature and used it to his advantage in combat. Once it 'died' one could not make out the dusty chunks of its pulverized skull when Sorn was finished with it.

"There! That wall to right of us is level. We'll use it!" Teeshna screamed, cutting and killing right behind Thavan.

"Cover us!"

Thavan and Sorn protected the two while they ran past them and reached into their pockets extracting some bizarre weapon with an attached projectile. That projectile had a large spiked tip at the end. There was also a metal ring that strapped around the users wrist right where the grip was situated.

The four were cornered. Twenty or so remained and they meant ill will upon them. This was it.

"We're out of time! It is now or never!" Thavan screamed in time for a sword that almost cleaved his right arm in two.

Teeshna and Neeshi performed their task in unison. They aimed upward and fired. A shrill hiss screeched as metal ground on metal. A long chain burst from the tip shooting hundreds of meters upward. The spike targeted the wall and drilled through at least a foot of rock.

"Thavan, my hand!" Those words were like a breath of fresh air to the war weary human. Thavan turned on his adversaries and reached Neeshi in seconds. Sorn dropped his weapons and followed after him.

Thavan gripped Neeshi's arm. The two rose upward at unprecedented speeds. One final act of defiance came as the glint of steel caught Thavan's eyes. A weapon intended to amputate both of his legs. He pressed his legs up and wrapped them around Neeshi's waist. The blade cracked into the rock, missing him in a fraction of a second.

The ground below shrunk and the threat faded. Thavan dropped his legs, letting them dangle over the edge.

Sorn pressed his fist into that same skeleton that posed a threat for Thavan. His hand dragged its skull against the rock. Bone cracked and splintered. The bumps and ridges of the rock fractured and tore through the splintered remains until there was only a spinal cord left attached. His other hand met Teeshna's and not a moment too soon for a dagger flew through the air and hit rock instead of her tender back. They rose upward and away from that dreaded divide forever. The chasm grew smaller by the second and their victory seemed assured.

"Don't let go Thavan! Long fall means you'll die-die!"

He did exactly what he shouldn't and eyed the fall the skaven spoke of. The tiny specks that made up his enemies sent his heart into his throat. "I'm trying!" He insisted through a voice cracking under strain.

Higher and higher the two scaled the cliff even faster than Sorn and Teeshna as they carried less weight on their backs.

When the two reached their end Neeshi pulled a pick from his pouch on his hip and slammed it against the rock. The weapon embedded several inches through and remained locked in place. He then handed Thavan another and expected him to do the same. He followed suit and held on.

"Let me reset the damn thing. One final shot should-will see us on stable ground!" The manic expression on his face worried Thavan greatly.

With the click of a button the pointed tip retracted from the wall and slid back into its base. A volley of arrows from below fired upon them, bouncing off the rocks and falling to the ground down under. Thavan growled as an arrow had just passed by his face. "Come on dammit! We don't have time for this!"

Indeed he was right. Far too right. The entire right side of the chasm, opposite of them separated from the foundation and came plummeting downward and toward the other side. Thavan gripped Neeshi even tighter than before when the pointed end fired up and over the chasm, embedding into solid ground above. They abandoned their picks and relied on the projectile for the final stretch.

Neeshi cried out in desperation for his sister, fearing the worst. And although she lagged behind, she echoed back to him. "I am still with you! Press onward!"

The world shifted around them. The ground quaked and the pyramid beneath them met tons of rock, smothering it for all of eternity. All around them dust and debris choked the clean air out from under them. As it not only became harder to breathe, their vision reduced substantially. A dust swarm swirled around them while they climbed higher and higher. Thavan clenched his comrade tightly, restricting blood flow.

Neeshi cringed. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make if it meant the four of them would see the light of another day.

Behind them the other wall neared their position. Time seemed to stop and the world froze for Thavan. He witnessed the impact before it made contact. Clairvoyance opened his mind to another possibility and what would follow if he had not reacted in time. At the last second his reflexes kicked in. He raised his legs and kicked upward, avoiding debris.

Neeshi's left foot was not saved from the same fate. The rock walls judgment hammered down, crushing his foot against both walls. The bone snapped, piercing through his flesh. Neeshi wailed a symphony of pain so great it felt as if he placed the trauma upon Thavan's shoulders.

The metal chain gun stalled and smoked against the resistance ushered from Neeshi's foot. Weight and pull fought tooth and claw for a gain. Their journey to the top was only meters away but felt impossible to reach now.

Luckily for Teeshna and Sorn the rock wall had managed to evade them by some unsuspecting luck of the drawl. But Teeshna felt no luck, no joy when she cried out for her brother. She and Sorn passed on by the other two. Solid ground became an assurance for them as they left the other two behind.

She reached for her brother when they were at even height. It was to no avail. They rose higher and higher with no means of stopping lest she risk Sorn's life too.

The resistance building in the handheld device would rupture sooner rather than later. And as the boulder crushing Neeshi's foot fell and caved into the earth, the snap back from the chain launched the duo upward. Thavan was flung from the safety of Neeshi and went airborne. Neeshi's wrist snapped from the force. Neeshi cried from the pain, tears dripped from his face and the urge to pass out was resisted above all else. He dangled by the chain, witnessing Thavan fly through the air and over the wall onto even ground but not before smashing against the rock and rolling multiple times. A dead thud emitted when he stalled. Thavan was unresponsive.

Zenara assessed the whole situation from afar. Her heart raced for them. She stood from a sandy dune and shuddered at the sight of Thavan's violent entry onto the topside. Behind her, tiny specks moved, closing the distance of endless miles of sand.

Zenara, sensing something amiss turned and saw tens of thousands of the forces of the undead Tomb Kings bearing the banners of their masters. Armed and brandishing weapons in the dark colors of bronze and glistening with robes in remembrance of the life they once had, the forces of the undead moved in formation. Massive constructs looming over the hordes lumbered forth n magical unlife with glowing fiery eyes.

Giant scorpions and statues carved in the likeness of their gods rose and convened on the many hordes marching to war. Skeleton horseman carried bows with quivers of dried, cracked leather upon their backs. Both horse and archer were one in the same, long dead and freed from the confines of skin.

If only what she saw was a mirage brought on by the heat of the baking sun. Sadly, that was not the case. Zenara nervously twiddled the elixir between her fingertips. "All this for a single vial?" She stated aloud. Her persona cast doubt over her face, wondering in the depths of her subconscious if giving this to the vampires spelled doom for humanity?

There was no time to ruminate over this. Zenara cleared her throat. "Varron, I don't know what your holdup is, but you need to converge on me now!"

"On it." He grunted.

Several meters from where she stood the ground shifted and sand funneled down into unnatural pits leaking into the rock. The earth shifted when two augers tore through the firmament. The Death Treader burst through the earth and pounded into the sand. Varron certainly knew how to make a first appearance.

The rear ramp lowered for Zenara to rush onboard. She deposited the vial within her personal quarters. Varron left the operators seat and watched Zenara leave, passing the two of them without sparing a glance in their direction.

"Where yah going?"

She squeezed the staff against her. His words spurring her onward. "To save them." She said, rushing down the ramp.

"Go with her Ziv. She's gonna need the aid."

Beneath the glow of green eyes he silently nodded. Ziv looked at Varron beneath the mask half heatedly.

"What is it, Ziv?"

"Thavan, ugh, Varron, is he going to die?"

Varron stopped and regarded his friend. He sighed and reached for his metallic shoulder. "With you out there, I believe he will make it. Now move it. Nobody dies today. I mean it."

Ziv's spirits bolstered. He turned on his heels and barreled out of that vehicle in hot pursuit of his friends and right behind the white seer.

When Zenara returned to the fray, she observed a most peculiar sight. Teeshna and Sorn stood around Thavan. He sat on bent knees and his face stared with a vapid gaze toward the sky. His hands lay slackened at his side, touching the burning sand. The voices of his pleading allies was so muffled and distant.

An invisible barrier separated him from the others. Try as they might, they could not find a way to snap him out of this psychosis. This barrier presented a terrible plight for the skaven. Neeshi was cut off from the others as he dangled with broken wrist over the edge between life and death.

Whispers of voices both great and small called to Thavan from beyond. He was a beacon, channeling dark energy to those from another realm. Exactly what Zenara had warned him about.

Compelled by forces beyond his control, Thavan fell prostrate upon the desert floor. The light of his eyes faded and gave way to the inky depths of unending blackness. The veins in his body darkened and his throat constricted, suffocating the man. Bloody fluids drooled from his mouth and nose, dripping upon the sand and melting it away with each droplet. The sand sizzled and fizzed to the power of chaos magic.

Thavan dug his fingers into the earth, splitting nails as he cried out, throwing his head back. "They've come." He strained through gurgled bloody breaths.

Teeshna raved in madness. Words and their meaning were long gone as she cried for her kin. Her mind lost to the warning Thavan presented.

Between the Death Treader and the undead the wind grew cold and damp. Above in the sky, the suns light faded and the warmth died. Zenara felt what the others could only see. Endless waves of magic poured onto the flat desert and all around them it choked the light. The air grew stagnant like musty sweat stained clothing dragging through the land.

A seam through the very air tore from the sky down to the sand below, seemingly splitting the heavens in two. The seam split wider and wider in the shape of a vaginal opening, tearing a portal from the mortal realm into the chaos dimension. Daemons both great and small ripped through the portal, facing their unbirth in the mortal realm. The entire army came facing the undead to the unforeseen fortune of the Grozen members.

Leading the armada was a keeper of secrets. A greater daemon bearing the seal of Slaanesh upon its pendulous breasts. Nipples the size of human heads lactated milky fluids when it came stomping through the mortal realm standing on spiny, digitigrade legs with cloven hooves. A tail as spiny as the flesh below its waist whipped from its back. The end puckered and squeezed at the tip in the shape of a vaginal orifice quivering at the never ending thirst for blood and semen.

The monster reveled in perversion and regarded dignity as the lowest form. Not even a loincloth covered its privates. Dangling betwixt its buxom breeding hips was a long, prehensile blood engorged clit. Its feminine thighs quivered and a clear fluid smeared from its clit-dick soaking the many pawns below and its legs in its fluids.

Beneath this inhuman perversion of nature a set of cunt lips rested. They oozed fem-cum. It squeezed its thighs together clenching its orifice tight, when they smacked together a slurping sound emitted. As the lips opened, tendrils and tongues lapped at the deep purple inner walls. One moment spent with it and a human would surely lose their mind and soul to the pleasure it bestowed.

Thousands if not tens of thousands peeled through the portal. Humans warped by chaos magic and daemons along with Champions of Slaanesh all came through for the united destruction of the mortal realm. Chariots carrying daemonettes pushed on, leading the charge with daemonic unicorns rushing forward. Their eyes glowed with the seal of Slaanesh and their horns were thick and shaped like a phallic object, spurting white cream with each push of their hooves. Their obliviousness to the skaven and human behind them was a boon the seven would capitalize on. That is, if only they knew one had waited for this moment.

At the opposite side of the portal, facing Thavan and company appeared a human-like being. Her features warped into a giant grin revealing a maw of sharp fangs. Her white skin tainted by a purple hue revealed a startling fact; Her hip was marked by a dark purple tattoo. It was the Slaanesh seal broken in two. Other strange sigils and runes tainted her skin. These were indecipherable. Long locks of black hair cascaded down her back, partially concealing short sprouting horns. Upon her chest a black corset and coat contained some form of modesty albeit only barely. Her breasts were fit to tear through the clothen and leather barrier. Tassels dangled from her clothing with bizarre sigils engraved on each end. Thigh high stockings connected by clip garters met at the top of her waist where her black lacy underwear lay out in the open. Black combat boots completed her ensemble.

With a jerk of her hand, a barrier formed between her and Thavan and the others. Her other hand smacked downward, forcing Sorn and Teeshna to bow in reverence at the flick of a finger.

The barrier Thavan held up fell as she closed the distance and stood over him. Her black forearm length gloved hand gripped his chin and rose it upward. No-one, not even Zenara could break the barrier she had formed.

The skies darkened further until it felt like the early hours of twilight. Thavan stared into black sclera and purple irises showing no sign of pity or remorse. Lifeless killers they were. Thunder cracked and rain cried down from the heavens.

"Why doth thou resist thine calling?" She breathed a commanding yet seductive tone.

"Thavan growled. The blackness in his eyes faded. "I am nothing like you."

"Ohh?" She smirked. Eyes widening.

"So defiant. I've yearned to break to you." She huskily moaned, creaming herself whilst dragging her tongue along his eyeball and down his cheek until the appendage stopped at his neck. A sticky film of residue persisted on his flesh. The warm substance burned within. His willpower faded.

She snapped her finger and the same vial Zenara stowed away now floated out of the Slaanesh followers grasp. Rain coated her hair and face, smearing the eyeliner and mascara down her eyelids.

"All of those before me went to such great lengths to achieve that which is out of thine reach. The price of immortality is paved on the backs of a civilization long dead. Having not learned its place it continues to fester as that of a malignant tumor. Tell me, Thavan, do you know who I am?"

"Yeah, you're the bitch in my head."

She smiled, raising her eyebrows due to his poignant words. "I'm flattered, truly. You know, I could simply break this vial and end your alliance before it began."

She gestured with her free hand, clasping the vial in her steely grasp. If any more pressure is applied it would crack beneath her force.

She scoffed, dropping hold of it. Once again it floated in front of her. "Alas, there is a great many things you and the others will be part of and we don't want you and Grozen to fail in your objective, now do we?" She spoke in a cutesy manner befitting of a mother to her child. To add insult to injury she poked his nose with a purple fingernail.

"You have a choice to make, Thavan. Not only the moment before you but beyond here too. They lie to you. All of these sides have lied to you and use you. Recall your mentor and 'friend' Darik Goddennine and how he planted deceit and deception to you from the beginning."

The contempt and change in her tone would have startled Thavan were it not for her mentioning his last link to the human world.

"How...how do you know of him?" Asked Thavan. His expression revealed a sense of unease that carried over into his body language.

"Ah! So now I have your attention! Is that all it took? Tisk tisk. You'll find many of those you trust would be so keen to place a metaphorical dagger in your back. Take for example, Zenara. Why is she so distant when you pry on the meaning behind her kindness? What is it she continues to hide from thee?"

The daughter of chaos fed the smallest suggestion to prep the human on a path some would say was predetermined. If only they knew what hell awaited this world by dabbling in a future not understood.

Thavan, in his last gasp of defiance scorned the chaos woman. "You truly believe I would place my allegiance under your care? I know what will come of this world when the end is nigh. Anybody out of their goddamned mind would be foolish enough to side with such insanity! This world will die!"

A coy smile revealed uncertainty. "They, who come from the portal, are not my allies. They are pawns under the Great Four. Your meddling in the timeline has created a rift and in doing so you have freed me and many others. I do not want this world to die Thavan. In fact, I intend to put an end to all of this before the world is lost."

She had done her part. Now, it was his turn to act. "When the time comes, you will call upon me, and I will answer. Serisseeiana The Daughter in Black will come to your beck and call and I shall illuminate the darkness blotting your life. But you, you may call me Seriss. Until then, I leave you with this; you must decide on his life or the alliance. I will drop the barrier and the followers of Slaanesh shall become privy to your presence. Will you sacrifice an alliance for the life of one? I will allow you to decide but do hurry my child." She laughed a whimsical dreamy giggle and dissipated into black water vapor.

At the moment of disappearance a chain of events fired off one after another. The barrier fell along with the vial. Just as she had stated, the hordes of Slaanesh had taken wind of them and worst of all, the device attached to Neeshi's wrist came loose. The young skaven male gripped a hanging rock supported by a broken wrist and held on. He screamed a painful cry for help.

As the followers of chaos descended upon them Sorn and Teeshna were relegated to defensive purposes as they were cut from Thavan yet again.

Thavan blinked. Another soul would perish under his charge. Could he stomach such a horrible thought? By Sigmar as his judge he'd end this once and for all.  
Thavan dove across the sand, landing on his stomach and catching the vial betwixt his fingertips. The moment of impact averted by a hair of a second. And it still wasn't over yet. Thavan tapped into unbound power lurking beneath flesh and blood, aching to reveal itself.

Thinking and or assessing this insanity was impossible. Thavan rose on scraped knees and made a running jump across the desert floor and to the edge of the crater. Neeshi's fingers let go one by one. Thavan hit the ground hard and slid across the sand, bruising his flesh. The edge grew closer and closer. Had he timed this within a hair over or under, Thavan would either lose his chance or die with Neeshi.

The chaos, death and disorder stalled at this moment. Thavan shut down every other worry and placed everything on the life of his ally. Neeshi screamed. His hand came loose when Thavan hit the rim of the crater. Thavan's hand reached without his knowledge of Neeshi's location. It happened all so fast there was no way of telling how it would go down.

It wasn't until Thavan blinked had he truly seen the outcome. Wrapped around Neeshi's broken wrist was Thavan's hand. Dangling by the humans grasp Neeshi looked below. It seemed the whole of the planet caved in. Dust and debris formed a cloud of smoke below, choking all lifeforms within the deadly miasma.

"I can't pull myself up, Thavan." Neeshi cringed, the pain near unbearable. "My wrist and leg are broken. I won't make it. And neither will you if-if you hold on. Let me go...please. You have to understand people die. Those men who perished knew what was bound to happen. Not everyone makes it Thavan. It was never your fault!" Neeshi cried out in desperation in the hope that his friend would live to see another day.

The look and fear in his eyes took Thavan back to those years before. It felt like only yesterday he fought with his men in that cavern. That terror in his face reminded Thavan of those young soldiers under his charge and how he was unable to save them. He distinctly recalled Hadran's face before he died and this skaven at this precise instant looked no different than his human ally.

Zenara screamed before the innumerable chaos soldiers encircling them. "Let him go, Thavan! We are out of time and unable to save you!"

Teeshna barked in defiance, "Do not abandon him human!"

The swirling mass of anger, guilt and sadness overwhelmed his fragile human mind. In his current weakened state it was nigh impossible to save Neeshi. Rain peppered his face, coating him in the cold droplets of self doubt. Thavan channeled the darkness within him, submitting to its allure. For the first time in his life something happened to the man. There were no voices and temptation. Power coursed through his veins. Neeshi's dead weight lessened until Thavan screamed, "No!"

In defiance against all those who doubted him, Thavan ripped the skaven from the jaws of his demise and placed him on solid ground.

Neeshi cursed beneath his breath. The endless pain nearly drawing him to a point of blacking out. His broken leg cracked against the earth. The pearly white of bone jutted through. Blood and sand mixed as one. And the rain washed the two away.

With a renewed sense of purpose Teeshna fought harder, cutting down the followers of Slaanesh. Blood coated her black leather and fur.

Varron activated the turrets on the Death Treader, firing upon those that bear the mark of chaos. Beyond their small skirmish, the forces of chaos and undead clashed in one titanic battle spanning as far as the shifting sands. Magical missiles sparked bright lights in the sky. Volleys of arrows great enough to blot out the clouds blinded the battlefield in death. It was total war.

Thavan placed the vial in his pocket and gripped Neeshi. "What are you doing?" He exclaimed.

"Getting you out of here." Thavan grunted and hefted the skaven over his shoulders.

He sighed and inhaled more breath to compensate for the added weight. In front of him the Death Treader fired miniguns onto the ensuing numbers, splattering them into mincemeat with warplock bullets shooting at supersonic velocities. Blood and organs washed onto the firmament but no matter how many were dispatched ten more poured through the portal to take their place.

Thavan heaved and pressed forward straight for the bloodshed that'd engulf him from all corners. Sorn, now armed with new weaponry rushed forward, cutting off limbs and decapitating heads in an effort to clear the path for Thavan.

The focus deviated from the defenseless human to the others. That isn't to say he had gone completely unnoticed. One half naked Slaanesh follower with swinging genitalia rushed for the two. Even in Neeshi's incapacitated state he was an aid to Thavan. His last dagger flung from his person and into the air. The blade sliced through the flesh and burrowed deep within. With the artery severed the glistening shimmer of crimson spurted from his neck and through the air in a majestic display like that of a blood fountain. The trooper fell to his knees gurgling on crimson and staining the ground in red.

Thavan paved the way to salvation, running past his allies and up the ramp into the Death Treader. The others lagged behind, fighting to the last second on the ramp itself. Zenara punched the button, beginning the process of the incline rising up the ramp and closing shut. Guns fired and swords clashed. Globes were thrown out into the open forming a pocket of protection against the suicidal chaos. And when the doors slammed shut, it severed the last chaos warrior in half leaving his twitching legs and intestines to spill out onto the floor.

The vehicle picked up the pace, moving across the desert and fired until the last shot left the belt. The trigger clicked and the gun wheezed. Varron realized seconds later what had happened. It was only then could he truly breathe.

Thavan sat beside Neeshi who in turn used his good hand to Clasp Thavan's and nodded. A final thank you before he passed out. His sister rushed to his aid, thinking the worst had transpired. Thavan raised his hand and wiped the blood from his cheek. "Relax, he's alive. But he needs medical attention immediately."

Teeshna touched her brothers forehead and then turned to Thavan, pulling him up and into a tight embrace. Her lips pecked his cheek in the gentlest display of affection. "What you've done..." Her words trailed off. "...I cannot begin to express my undying gratitude."

Thavan stood before her, secretly trembling over just how close this would have ended differently. "We'll talk about this later. For now, care for your brother. He needs you."

Teeshna intended to do just that. When Zenara came forward, an ugly scowl marred her attractive features. "How dare you-you!" Teeshna stumbled over her words. "You'd abandon your own people!"

Zenara stayed still and listened. When she was finished, it was her turn. "If you cannot separate personal feelings and your duty, then you two should split. You agreed when you joined this operation to see the destruction of our opposition at any cost. Personal feelings will get us all killed. Do not forget that."

"She's right, Teeshna." Added Thavan. "But at what cost must we go before we lose our humanity along the way? If we continue down this path and disregard all life before us, then are we no different than those we oppose? I will not lose myself or my humanity at the sake of you or Grodmoor's alliance."

Thavan was quick to point to Neeshi. "Furthermore, I'm not letting some damn bloodsucker stop me from saving one of my own. I've fought, bled and lived side by side with all of you for many moons now. Those before me have in some bizarre turn of events become family. And with Sigmar as my judge, I won't leave a fellow soldier behind."

Zenara resisted the urge of pressing the topic further. Thavan reached into his pocket and handed her the vial.

She looked down at the elixir. "May we speak elsewhere?"

"Lead."

Both entered the room where Varron was piloting the vehicle. "The damn diggers are stuck. I can't burrow."

"It's fine." Stated Zenara as the bulky door closed behind her.

"How about we take this opportunity for you to tell me what it is you have hidden from me and refused to elaborate even to this day? Or, let's take this a step further and tell me how you knew about what happened to me down in that cavern when they killed my fellow men and paraded me around like some goddamned pet?"

Her expression altered. The lights within dimmed and a shadow cast doubt over her face. "Thavan, now is not the time."

"If not now then when! What are you hiding from me? I deserve to know."

"Please, calm yourself. This is not the place to talk. I will confide everything to you but allow me to do it when we return."

"Fine." He scowled. "The moment we step off this vehicle, I want answers."

"Ugh guys, not to interrupt you two but look at the sky." Varron spoke in a tone unlike him. It was awe and fear.

Thavan and Zenara's current predicament faded. They both walked toward the windows. Tens of thousands of corpses stacked across the battle like walls and barriers across the dead lands as the forces of hell and undead battled on.

This is not what drew the attention of Varron, no. The heavens above parted as if a great deity split the sky asunder. The glow of a pale moon and stars shined down upon the endless death. Zenara's jaw dropped and were it not for her fur, she'd have surely paled.

Before them a comet flashed across the nights sky. A twin tailed comet glistening a putrid green film illuminated the rainy battlefield below. It burned across the moon and into the great beyond. It was the last of the surface they saw as the diggers activated and burrowed into the planet. Those burning flames were forever ingrained into his visage. A beacon heralding the end of days. A monument to embody all their deaths. The End Times had come.

* * *

 **Over 15 days late but I still provide! I am sorry it took so long but this is the longest piece of literature I have ever written. I mean it is over 17 thousand words. That is almost 1/4 the length of an average novel. Oh well, I still upload at least once a month so there's that.  
**

 **This is without a shadow of a doubt my favorite chapter of this book so far. It sets the stage for the more horrible events to come.**

 **Dan if you are reading this please contact me.**

 **Oh and to those of who that wrote such awesome reviews about my work, thank you. They really mean so much to me. They truly keep me invested. Even constructive reviews help. You care enough to reach out to me and that means a lot. You people on fanfiction are fantastic. Stay classy and have a great day. I am going to bed as I work third shift...zzzzzzzzzz**


	10. Chapter 9

Of Atonement And Salvation: The End Times

Chapter 9  
The End of An Era

Today was not Lord Grodmoor's day. Tomorrow wasn't in his favor either. The urge to stand subsided when another sniper rifle round penetrated the side of his cover, leaving him further exposed. Nothing ever goes according to plan now does it?

Beside him lay the corpse of an honor guard. Dried blood matted around the exit wound. Small globs of brain matter mushed out beside the hole in the side of his head. The body was beginning to stink. A reminder to how long Grodmoor had been stuck in this situation. Although, he can't be too harsh on the poor fellow. He pushed the Grozen Lord out of the line of sight and took the bullet in his place. That bastard will pay for Grodmoor losing one of his finest.

None of this would have transpired were it not for Hiskrin of Clan Morbidus jumping the gun and reacting prematurely. His control over his thralls was weaker than he realized. And now he payed the price. None of this should have happened. Delegations stalled and some clans refrained from siding. Neutrality! Bah! There is no time for such a thing. Now the opportunity to wipe them out in one final blaze of glory fizzled before his very eyes.

This turn of events kicked off an entire wave of unforeseen consequences. All of this led to Grodmoor taking cover behind the busted out remains of a dilapidated building on the outskirts of Skavenblight as snipers continually harassed him with potshots. Lovely.

Through the rafters, soft creaking sounded above. Grodmoor sighed, expecting another trap before him. A light footed Sneek descended from the blackness. Sweat, blood and grime covered his once ornate robes. What little visible skin showed was covered in filth. And the smell, well...it left much to be desired.

"How fares the frontline, my sneaky little bastard?" Grodmoor's tone and choice of words spoke volumes on just how greatly this battle wore down the angered Lord.

Another round fired, blowing off a corner of rotten wood, exposing Grodmoor further. "Oh fuck them to hell!" He bellowed hoarsely, cracking his balled fist into the wall he used for support.

Sneek chittered into a headset attached to his ear. Moments later counter snipers sent a volley of warplock rounds from their hidden location. The two snipers harassing Grodmoor were disposed of when their heads popped and the spatter of red flashed behind them. The back of their skulls split open. Like ripe fruit it bestowed its bounty on the floor, staining the ground in skaven gore.

Sneek signaled for the Grozen Lord to rise. Grodmoor did just that and left the open skyline behind. Within the room a few dying candles lit their last gasps of defiance before their flames would be silenced forevermore.

Sneek pulled a rolled up map from his person and laid it out for Grodmoor to peruse. "Situation was under control till that senseless lord launched a full scale assault on Skavenblight and the Grey Seers Temple. Word is Hiskrin's warriors snuffed out half of the seers before they cast a great orb around their capital. It's impenetrable they say. The bastards are sure to be plotting as we speak."

Sneek then pointed at the edge of the map where they currently resided, then traced his finger north. "The men working on digging through the core beneath Skavenblight have encountered another setback. The drills won't break through the rock. Until then we must wait for one powered by your experimental rock. What you call bluestone."

Grodmoor looked from the map to the skaven lord. "Indeed and should it backfire, we'll all be dead."

"That is a risk worth taking. We cannot hope to win a conventional war. Cut off the head of the viper now, or this war'll drag on past our lives."

"I know." Growled Grodmoor. "Never in the history of our people have we seen such a climactic standoff. Skryre are locked in a violent civil war. The Grey Seers capital lay in ruin and Skavenblight is at our doorstep. I'd surmise that pawn Thanquol is shitting himself. I want his head on my wall."

Grodmoor tapped his clawed fingernail on the map at the precise location where the seers remained, cooped up in their hideout.

Sneek moved his finger away, watching Grodmoor with deep ruby red eyes. "Do not forget it is because of myself and my understanding of the sewers that gave you the upper hand in this scenario. This taste of victory is because of my machinations. We of Eshin have never sided with any one faction. Paid in coin a contract may be used on any. We value none above the other. No politics nor religion. All that matters is blood money. Today, the times have changed and I have a personal stake in this great equalizer: My children. Teeshna and Neeshi. A son and daughter untainted by warpstone. Pure and healthy. There is very little I trust from your mouth, Grodmoor. But this, this is the greatest lie I have been fed. What I have done was never for you. Although, I cannot deny I have a personal vendetta that will not be sated until we kick down the door of this rotten empire and cleanse this land of the grey seers and their religion."

Grodmoor nodded. He quite enjoyed the sound of that. "We don't have to be friends. All I ask is you stop with your assassins targeting me."

"Done. Although you realize I am not privy to every contract made?" The Lord asked. His words were light and airy.

"I do. And I also know your word is law."

Rockets and mortars exploded in the distance, rocking the foundation of this aging structure they stood within. Ratling gunners fired a hailstorm of bullets from windows and other sources of cover. Grozen and Eshin banners waved high in the sky, supported by Morbidus, Vhenorook and Skryre flags bearing the color of Grozen. A sign of things to come and a visual deterrence to those who hid within the city.

Artillery decimated skaven holdouts, clawing at their last breath of defiance. Cleanup crews entered the remains of debris riddled buildings, launching poison wind globes supported by warplock flamethrowers.

The fall of Skavenblight and its taste is something only Lord Grodmoor savored greater than any of his vintage stock. For over five hundred years he waited for this moment, biding his time and strengthening his grip across the land. He took great risks extending his life so this day may come, and come it has. It is only fitting the end of days would be the catalyst that spurned his ambition forward. This conquest certainly might have gone smoother but such is this game of life and the setbacks it imposes.

His eyes glimmered with the heat of experimental rockets lighting the green, glowing cavern in a yellow hue. They burst across the underground sky and plummeted into one of the many censers erected into the concrete sky by Pestilens. The reaction was displeasing for those underneath it. The fluid within reacted in a volatile manner and imploded, blanketing all beneath it in white fire. The screams that followed delighted Lord Grodmoor.

Not everything was going according to plan though. The northern front was becoming increasingly unstable. Clan Mors and their innumerable horde of stormvermin plowed through the ranks of skaven clans bought out by Grodmoor's deep pockets. Better them than his men. He'd drink to that. And from this balcony he oversaw all forms of combat from each corner of the southern fringe. This time, without sniper fire.

Sneek perused the map, looking for some invisible means of ending this war sooner. His grunts and sighs attracted the attention of Lord Grodmoor.

"What is it?" He prodded.

"What is the chance this bomb is a dud? Hmm? We have fail-safes in place? Yes? No?"

"And I thought I was the pessimist." He smiled, revealing canines sharp as blades.

"So far each test has shown promise, albeit on a smaller scale. This is the first time bluestone powered weaponry has been implemented with the aid of Kreevan and his engineers. When this battle comes to its brutal finale, I will begin full-scale implementation of bluestone across all facets of the military. Bullets, poison wind, it will all become a viable option very soon. And about those fail-safes, Do not take me for a fool, Sneek. I have not become one of the largest most secretive faction within skaven history without having other options within my reach."

Sneek appeared neither relieved nor annoyed by his claims. He pressed his original question further. "What if those arming the bomb cannot break through the ranks?"

Grodmoor wasn't sure what he was getting at. These barrage of questions were doing nothing to aid the war effort. "Mark my words, I'll drag the goddamned thing myself to the capital of Skavenblight if I must. If you take me for a coward, Eshin Lord I'd suggest you remember where I began and just how many of your followers have succumbed to my grasp. What is the purpose of these nagging questions? Are you feeling the need to turn your back on what you willingly signed up for?"

Sneek's beady eyes looked upon the menacing glare of the Grozen Lord. The full weight of his presence bared down upon him.

"Need I remind you what happens if you double cross me? I'll have your children Neeshi and Teeshna put to death and their entrails paraded through the city."

Sneek stood firm against his warning. "Had I seen fit to gaze upon your corpse, Grodmoor, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a fact."

Even if Grodmoor had a response which he didn't, Lord Sneek raised his hand. Beneath the cloth barrier covering his face lay a farsqueek headset to his right ear. Screams and gunfire reverberated through the headset, loud enough for Grodmoor to discern. Static feedback blocked much of the traffic. Still, Sneek understood most of it.

And as his hand lowered, Grodmoor waited for what he already knew would be said. Sneek grinned beneath the mask. "You're about to eat your words. They broke through only to encounter an army waiting on the other side. We're going to lose that bomb lest we act now."

Grodmoor gripped the double sided axe on his back. "Warn any available men to pile on that bomb. You and I will spearhead the assault."

# # # #

All around him the battlefield eclipsed every part of this forsaken city. The screams of skaven intermingled with gunshots and cannon fire powered by warpstone. From down within this underground shaft the sound of warfare was never-ending.

Grodmoor towered over his subordinates. They rushed on by their master, charging with fanatical zeal at the sight of their commanding officer leading the push. Scores of soldiers both great and small armed with all manner of different weapons and armor flung themselves forward and past Grodmoor. The thudding pulse of war drums beat with each clamoring shout. The urge for split veins and bloodied corpses drew them together for this brutal finale. Months of bloodshed and lost brothers erected this final moment of retribution.

A dead ratling gunner, one of Grodmoor's own lay dead at the mouth of the great cavern. Beyond him a skaven-made hole blew out the opening, revealing the bottom cellar of a Clan Pestilens Church. The smell of noxious fumes and disease riddled poultices glowing ominous colors stained and marred the underbelly of this wicked place.

Walls and barricades formed out of toppled over desks and shelving units directed the flow of combat where Clan Pestilens found most convenient. A mass suicide charge ensured many within Grozen's army were riddled with warplock rounds or mutilated by censers with pus sacks and disease tainting their dead faces.

Hundreds on both sides fought for control of the center where the bomb sat motionless. More piled on thanks to Grodmoor but all signs pointed to an enemy victory if they don't react quickly.

Grodmoor stared upon the dead gunner once more. He'd taken a projectile to the jaw, severing the bone. The loose appendage hung by strands of flesh and dangled off the side. His dead eyes masked a face void of life and color. Blood painted his armor and darkened against the taste of oxygen. An ammunition belt rested at his side, nearly full and aching to expel death at the hands of any would be user willing to shed life from that steely grip and trigger.

His ax once again was denied bloodshed and placed upon his back. Grodmoor's claws dug into the gun the skaven once held and pried it from his cold, dead hands. Grodmoor tested the firearm in his right hand. The muscles in his arm flexed and what would require two hands was unnecessary for the muscular behemoth that was Lord Grodmoor. In one hand he hefted the weapon forward and in his free hand he pointed for that bomb, screaming across the battlefield to the skaven behind him to kill.

Grodmoor dragged his left hand along the crank and rammed it downward, snapping the handle and sending the barrels into an infinite loop of spinning and soon to be firing hellfire. The corpse below him dragged along with the weapon and a volley of death spit from the maw of those barrels. The barricades splintered and cracked, bullets penetrated the meager defenses, meeting the flesh of unarmored censer bearers. Blood flashed across the fallen corpses of those blocking Grodmoor from his victory.

Sneek rushed on by the Grozen Lord, his chance now materialized as all aggression pointed toward Grodmoor. A blur in the wind and the glint of steel, the Assassin pressed forth for control.

Bullet after bullet spit from the maw of the gatling gun. A hailstorm of lead converged upon those foolish enough to fire back. Blood sprayed from severed arteries and limbs split in two, painting the ground in the life blood of dying skaven. Grodmoor's relent came to a close as the barrels spun and no warplock rounds exited the red hot barrels. He discarded the useless tool.

The battle demanded he get up close and break the stalemate. In both hands he hefted the ax forward. A weapon of this size may only be used by someone with the strength an stature such as Grodmoor.

Sneek scaled the stalactites in search of an access point to reach the upper levels of the caverns. He knew if anybody within this army had the balls to slow the opposition to a trickle, it'd be him.

Across each stalactite he leaped, climbing higher and higher to brace his feet against the shrinking stalactites. The tips of his toes were supported by long dagger-like blades to aid digging into the rock. The higher he climbed, the less of a chance his prey would see him. The final push saw him positioned over an opening leading up into the Clan Pestilens Cathedral.

Warplock jezzails fired long range rifles, harassing his allies and driving a wedge deeper into their victory. Sneek silently lowered himself down toward the ledge. When he dropped, he deftly caught himself, holding by his fingertips. The snipers never saw the blur in the wind nor the flash of black. Doom drew upon them and their last breaths were moments away.

The skaven above him fired his last round. Sneek waited no more. His feet kicked off the wall for the added oomph to send himself upward. His feet constricted around the waste of the sniper. There was only the startled gasp that came from the his enemy. Sneek flung the skaven backward and over the ledge. His feet touched the ground and stood in his adversaries place.

The sniper fell multiple stories below, landing on a stalagmite. The pointed end impaled the skaven through the gut. He screamed a final bloodcurdling wail lost beneath the madness of warfare. His hands clawed at the rock, trying in vain to pull himself off the weapon. Blood poured from his mouth until his hands and body slackened. The corpse descended down the thicker base. His blood now serving as lubricant.

Another rifleman stood with his firearm braced against a pile of rubble for support. The shadowy assassin glided toward him. Silently, the killer prowled in search of more blood. He never saw it coming until those arms reached around, tightening against his throat. The skaven lost all comprehension of his objective. He gasped for aid but nothing came, only the muffled plea of self denial.

The rifle fell from his grasp, clanging against the rock. A wetness trickled through his undergarments and down his thigh. Sneek applied increasing waves of pressure until the slightest bit of effort sought ended with the cracking of vertebrae. And in effect, breaking his neck. The dead weight slackened against him. He grunted, letting go and kicking the corpse forward. It tumbled over the ledge, landing on an unsuspecting slave. The poor things back shattered. It lay flattened against the ground and on the verge of death.

Sneek focused. He turned his gaze elsewhere and saw the stairwell where the enemy funneled through. From this vantage they'd be hard pressed to see him. The element of surprised remained on his side.

Grodmoor grunted. His grip tightened around the handle of the ax. It beckoned him to let flow the arteries of all those that opposed the skaven lord. As if on cue, four skaven armored in plate and brandishing halberds at the ready converged on the bomb. The Grozen leader kept the momentum on his side by charging into them before they might encircle. The burst of speed he showed seemed nigh impossible with that level of plate upon him.

His judgment came in the form of an ax upon the shoulder-blade of his first victim. The sluggish response from the skaven sealed his fate. The pointed end met plate. When the two connected the sheer force of Grodmoor's attack splintered the plate inward, breaking the skaven's collarbone in the process. The skaven wheezed. The breath in his lungs evaded him. His weapon fell to the wayside. This gave Grodmoor the chance to focus on the others.

All around him forces on both sides clashed. With a renewed sense of morale at the sight of their master in the thick of it, the united skaven clamored for victory. Like a stampede they pressed for the bomb and control of this bloodbath.

A flash of steel forced Grodmoor into a defensive stance. Metal on metal hissed. Ax and halberd ground into the other. Eyes locked and the dance of death commenced. On Grodmoor's open flank the other skaven ploughed through his guard and sent the weapon forward and toward the killing blow. The Lord of Grozen had foreseen this attack. What he envisioned came to life and his plan to fruition. He broke from the attack and in turn knocked the skaven off balance. Such a shame for him too, his allies halberd came downward and into his wrist, completely missing Grodmoor's chest.

The stormvermin squeaked a sharp trill. His dismembered appendage fell to his feet. The splitting of arteries pumped a geyser of blood into the air, painting the battlefield in crimson highlights. One could see the pearly white of bone jutting through the mangled flesh.

Grodmoor stood far too close to make use of his weapon. He leveraged his options. His fist balled and wound up into a haymaker. The skaven having just chopped off his allies hand lost his composure. This left him completely open for a gauntlet covered in plate ramming right into his face. The eyes went black and the bones in his muzzle snapped. Blood funneled from his nostrils and mouth, choking the skaven out from sweet oxygen. A deluge of blood and yellow stained teeth flooded from his muzzle and onto the rocky ground. The stormvermin swung wildly. The bloodied face left his mind clouded and open for Grodmoor to establish control.

His punches made no contact and required little effort to dodge. In his blinded state, his feet hit into a rock. The skaven lost balance, stumbling backward. This was the space Grodmoor required. His steely grasp tightened around the handle of his weapon. This skavens legs were equipped with front facing greaves, leaving the backside completely exposed. The ax swung downward and into his calf. The aching need to exsanguinate the user tainted the steel in a crimson tide.

The muscles beneath Grodmoor's armor flexed to the added force. Another appendage flung out and under him. The stormvermin screamed and fell onto his back. Grodmoor stepped on top of the prey. He gasped, choking against the weight asphyxiating his lungs.

Grodmoor couldn't risk using the entirety of the ax to kill his foe for the chance of it embedding into his helm was too high. Instead, he rammed the spiked tip at the top down between the gap of his helm. The skaven rose his hands and plead for mercy. Mercy that fell on deaf ears. The pointed tip skewered down the middle of his eye and penetrated through several inches of skull.

The face froze in a silent scream. Eyes remained widened and that open mouth hung agape for all to see his last moment etched into a death-mask.

Grodmoor watched as a clear film of fluid followed by blood trickling from the wound. His hands tugged back. A wet pop clicked and the eyeball along with the cord snapped from his skull and dangled like an umbilical cord. The body spasmed and its hands fell to the ground.

Grodmoor tugged the eye from his ax and crushed it inside his plated gauntlet. It splattered in his grasp as eye fluid trailed between his fingertips.

His attention reverted to his original target. The skaven held its appendage in his hand. His eyes were glazed over in shock. Grodmoor tightened his grasp around the bastards throat. He lifted the skaven in the air with one hand whilst it choked and cried. In his other hand he held a firm grasp on his ax. The tall behemoth towered over his followers and enemies. He was a true mountain of a man in skaven form.

"Kill them all!" A vociferous battle-cry and lust for blood echoed through the lungs of Lord Grodmoor.

His hand pressed inward, crushing the larynx of the defenseless skaven. An eerie stillness overcame the dead enemy. Grodmoor flung the corpse into the oncoming waves of Clan Pestilens zealots. The final skaven watched as his three allies were effortlessly dispatched. He turned his back on Grodmoor and fled. His retreat was short lived. A blade in the dark drove into his spine from his own allies. Those who flee shall be cut down by their own.

Grodmoor's men swarmed around the bomb. Now that he had control of it, it was time to deliver the payload.

The handle lay clasped in Grodmoor's grasp. The blue glowing weapon dragged across the battlefield by Grodmoor and Grodmoor alone. Even with his seemingly limitless strength, it took everything out out of him to drag it through the bumpy, rocky ground and toward the stairwell underneath the Clan Pestilens Temple.

More skaven piled onto the bomb and pushed with Grodmoor at the forefront, leading the charge.

Sneek leaped from his vantage point and onto a stalactite. A detonator sat in his clenched jaw. The assassin bit down and delivered a payload of explosives onto the stairwell. Rock split apart and ripped out from above the skaven storming into the cavern. The stairwell collapsed, caving in and killing many in the tight corridor. Their only point of entry snuffed out. Hundreds were either engulfed by the epicenter or were crushed beneath the rock. Limbs and blood from where Sneek once stood, coated the skaven in gore.

The loss of fresh soldiers ensured sooner rather than later the opposition would crumble. Grodmoor pushed on while his followers hacked and slashed through the fodder until they were losing ground and retreated beneath the temple.

Before him the blue substance glowed beneath a protective glass barrier. The color stood far removed from that of the natural nauseating green warpstone of old. The fluids sloshed beneath the tank, soon to be rigged and ready to explode.

Behind the the glass container a console jutted out from the metallic surface covered with a handful of buttons. Grodmoor pressed the top one. Six metal legs shot out from either side of the bomb and burrowed into the core of the rock, parasitically latching itself permanently until detonation.

Sneek walked beside Grodmoor. His hand wiped excess body parts from his clothing and his eyes looked on. The few remaining skaven on the opposition were systematically executed one by one either by sword or musket. Even if they surrendered they were run through.

"The bombs ready. Should any vermin manage to break through, the council of nine will activate the bomb prematurely. Nobody has to be the hero today and lag behind. When I hit that button we have one hour before this city becomes a graveyard for the old skaven and their ways." Grodmoor breathed deeply. Victory was at hand.

A lapse in time from previous combat left the Grozen Lord somewhat worn out from his battle. Perhaps it was high time he put the bottle down and exercised more?

Sneek deftly breezed around the bomb. His body flowed almost like a dance to an invisible partner only he could see. "So this is it. An end of an era." From his robes Cathayan characters gleamed off his clothing in the cavern.

"You do know once this ends, there will still be stiff resistance throughout our realm, correct? A great push-back, if you will."

"And they will die along with their masters. Death Packs will scour across the known world and erase their very history. I will drive them all the way to Hell Pit if I must." His tone and cadence reflected hundreds of years of built up rage. A topic Sneek would not press.

Grodmoor gazed upon the carnage one final time. Bodies lay in piles across the cavern. The flamethrower crews went through, burning the remains into smoldering ash. Hundreds, if not thousands all but forgotten in this battle and many more would be lost along the way. And yet, as he pressed that button, sealing the fate of Skavenblight and his world as he knew it, he knew the deaths of his men would not be in vein.

"Move out. We're done here." Grodmoor watched the bomb begin its final diagnostics check before plotting the course for detonation. One hour is all they had. And it was all they needed.

# # # #

The skaven following Grozen into the underground tunnel strategically placed bombs throughout the artificial mine they dug. Every detonation placed a growing barrier of rock between them and the bomb. They needed to cover their tracks in case the explosion was stronger than anticipated.

When the last members of the Grozen Alliance removed themselves from that accursed mine, the last mini explosion erupted, sealing the mine away for now and forevermore.

Grodmoor stood on the outskirts of town, watching both sides pepper one another with weapons crafted by Skryre. Grodmoor sent word to his scouts to retrieve his generals before the end. As of this moment, they waited for him at a hastily erected tent serving as a forward outpost.

Grodmoor found himself moving toward the tent with Sneek by his side. Sneek looked minuscule and emaciated in comparison to Grodmoor's hulking frame. His physical appearance was merely a ruse. Espionage and assassination were his one true calling.

Grodmoor's honor guards stood at attention on either side of the entrance. They pounded their hands into their chests and straightened out. Upon drawing closer they eased up and pulled the tent flap open. Grodmoor nodded as the duo entered within.

Hiskrin of Morbidus sat within his chair and stifled a muffled groan through a large piece of cloth he bit into. A spear head pierced through his armor and broke off into his shoulder. The wound oozed blood into his undergarments and down through the hole where the spear made contact. Fortunately for him, the wound failed to hit an artery.

A surgeon tended to his wound whilst the irate skaven spit out the rag and grumbled to himself. The doctor wore spectacles on his muzzle, enlarging his insect-like eyes. His pockets were fit to burst with all manner of bizarre medical supplies and trinkets.

"Now hold still, this is gonna sting like hell." The surgeon showed no concern for his well being. In fact, it almost sounded as if he enjoyed the fact this skaven should suffer.

He pulled a set of pliers from his pockets and examined the best point of entry. The surgeon tore through the armor as if it were parchment, leaving behind a square sized hole around the wound. Blood matted fur and the smell of sweat stank the interior of this outpost.

The skaven extracted a bottle of alcohol from his hip and doused the wound several times over. Hiskrin's eyes watered and widened simultaneously. He nearly barked every foul curse that conjured in his enraged mind but the fight to stay conscious proved an even greater challenge. Flesh met table when a balled fist pounded into the wooden top.

Hiskrin refrained from lashing out. Instead, he ripped the bottle from the skaven's hands. "Gimme that!"

Hiskrin spared no thought of his own care when he guzzled down every drop of alcohol. The surgeon growled, infuriated that his stock now lay in the gullet of an unworthy skaven.

At the sight of Lord, Kreevan perked up and stood at attention. "Ah, Lord Grodmoor, it is good to see you. What a fine day for killing! Wouldn't you agree?"

A silent nod is all that he returned, Both Sneek and Grodmoor stood, covered in blood and bits of skin and gore.

"I trust the mission was a success?"

"It was." A definite answer from the Grozen master himself.

Skron of Vhenorook had not harbored the same feelings as the rest of them. His battle came to a close right as they were about to spearhead an assault through the heart of the city. His unbridled rage nearly brought him to put a bullet into the head of the messenger. Something held him back. There was a reason behind Grodmoor's suspicious behavior.

"All of you, stand. Walk with me. You must see this with thine own eyes. Let it burn into your visage for the rest of your lives. Never forget what you will see today."

Grodmoor offered not even so much as a passing glance. He left the others standing in confusion, save for Kreevan. He knew all along what was to transpire. Grodmoor waited patiently for each of them to take part in this spectacle.

It was necessary for Kreevan to become privy on this need to know basis. The majority of his men piled on that bomb. He was so very eager to witness what bluestone might achieve at the deaths of millions. The options may very well prove endless!

All of them did as Grodmoor requested except for Hiskrin. The skaven grimaced and placed his spiked helm on the table. It clattered and bounced some feet from him. He stood while the surgeon prepped needlework in his shoulder, having already extracted the spear head. Hiskrin dragged his feet toward the exit but not before reaching around and dragging the chair with him.

As the others stood, Hiskin plopped the chair on the rocky ground while the surgeon worked away with needle and thread.

Sneek tapped his claw against his thumb. "Three, two, one."

The results, well...there were none. In place of an ungodly explosion there was only silence. No destruction, no killings, nothing! What form of treachery was this! Grodmoor tempered his rising anger and watched. A distinct ripple traveled down the city shrieking a high pitched whine. The pulse drove back to where they stood. The ground quaked and then came the nightmare.

From beneath the core the rock imploded. An explosion, no, a seemingly world ending cataclysmic event rocked the foundation from which Skavenblight stood for millennia. The centrifugal force swallowed up skyscrapers, rising higher and higher, uprooting the entire city from where it once stood. Debris and dust formed tornado's the size of small cities as the entire capital swirled upward. Blinding blue light immolated the smallest buildings and only grew in size.

The inhuman screech of the ground splitting against the backdrop of a titanic explosion rocked the very foundation from which they stood, deafening all those who watched this unfold at the outskirts. And when the city reached the top of the sky of rock, it not only erupted into volumes louder than any weapon in known history, it was nigh impossible to hear from the shell-shocked skaven.

As both sides collided the rocky sky above caved in, drowning the cavern in a deluge of toxic swamp water and poisonous gases. A crater several miles wide stretched outward as the bomb erected a geyser of rock into the world on the outside, shooting chunks of city and boulders the size of small homes across the vast expanse of land.

Grodmoor watched on in near disbelief of what he had seen. Buildings all around cascaded into one another. Millions were snuffed out in but a matter of seconds. This moment would forever alter skaven society.

The majority of the others watched on in expressionless stares. The once impregnable fortress of Skavenblight was brought to its knees. All appeared numb save for Sneek. Sneek's eyes bore witness to the deaths of world leaders and countless other acts of espionage that left him cold and disinterested in the world around him. Even money and power did little to please the king of assassins.

In truth, he wasn't doing this simply for his children, the threat of the chaos menace stirred Sneek to action. This sole reality is what drove Sneek to Grodmoor's side. It came as no surprise to Sneek that Grodmoor orchestrated this to usurp the masses and bring the council of thirteen to their knees. If destruction of this scale was necessary to ensure a surviving world, then to Sneek, the end always justified the means. But this tale has not closed yet and the fate of the world remains a mystery.

Sneek watched the skyscrapers fall into themselves. The citywide cratered formed around the dead marshes above, swallowing up the inhabitants and jutting them through the sky only to plummet to their deaths. If their fate in this grand scheme was predetermined, then Sneek cannot blame Grodmoor for lack of trying.

His thoughts circling around Grodmoor drove him from the world and those around him. It is only natural it would be he who brought him back. "When the city stabilizes, send your men into the ruins of Skavenblight, kill the stragglers and bring me the Lords of Decay. We cannot risk the chance that they may have survived. Skaven are a tricky species. We all know this. Find their bodies. Otherwise, a public execution is in order. Word must be spread to the far reaches of skavendom. They will acquiesce to my rule or their clans and their people will be torn asunder. May this ruin before us shine as a beacon to all that oppose Grozen. Our time has come."

# # # #

(Thavan Vanamar – Location – Within the Death Treader – Time (8/21/19)

The smell of roasting meat deterred my inevitable need for rest. The desire to sleep faded and my olfactory senses were driven wild with the need for sustenance. For now, I'd stay awake.

Since the day I risked my life to save Neeshi, the two have welcomed me within their circle. Their food, their knowledge and tactics along with their friendship opened before me.

Our reserves were running low. It required us to ration what little we had left but these two were eager to share anything they had on offer. A side of them was shown, one of excessive generosity and concern for my well-being. I have grown fond of these two. Neither are inconsiderate of my need for silence. In fact, they appeared to revel in it as much as myself. Just sitting together in our respective thoughts as the engine lulled me to sleep was enough for us.

Sometimes I'd sit and watch his sister stitch garments together and repair tears in their clothing. Teeshna's small hands worked the needle and thread with finesse. The needle acted like an extension of her body. There was something methodical and hypnotic in her approach that drove me to watch. This is how they made their clothing. It was from her and her skill alone.

Seated together in this small room with Neeshi's leg propped on a table and in a cast while Teeshna cooked and I watched wasn't what I had in mind. And yet, it was what I needed. A friendship forged in the fires of warfare. A light in these weary eyes. And a sense of normality in insanity. They know not that I am indebted to them. It is comedic in the sense that they feel a need to return a favor that is unnecessary. Letting me into their lives was enough.

"Now don't go to sleep-sleep just yet Thavan. We eat and drink!" Neeshi proclaimed with enough gusto to rouse myself and wake this sleepy form.

That was okay though. The gift of life stayed by his side, quelling the shadow of death. There was much to be happy for. Only when we are doomed to lose something we take for granted is when realization dawns on us. Even with the gauze and splints holding his mangled flesh in place, he beamed at me. The boy was chipper than ever, albeit a little sore.

"I'm up, I'm up. I promise." I grumbled, wiping my eyes.

When I pulled my hands from my face, Zenara stood within the frame of the opened door. Her eyes beckoned for me.

Brother and sister turned from their devices and looked at her. "Is this a bad time?" It was a trick question. She wanted something.

"No. Would you like to join us?" Inquired Teeshna.

Zenara feigned interest, offering small talk till she revealed her reason for being here...me. She wished to speak with me alone in her quarters. I had a feeling where this would lead. I politely excused myself from the two and followed after her, much to the chagrin of Teeshna and Neeshi.

Zenara's usual attire of colorful robes was lacking this time around. Fabric dyed in black lay draped over her person, covering much of her soft, white downy fur. The lack of color heightened her blue and black eyes and white spiraling horns.

When the automatic doors to her quarters spun open, Zenara spoke. "Sit down, please."

I complied and sat on a chair next to a small table lined with refreshments and snacks.

"Thirsty, hungry?" Her hand reached out, offering the platter at my discretion.

"A little."

"Help yourself."

Delicately, her fingers gripped the silver pot with gold trim. Zenara's free hand held the lid firmly to the base. She tilted the pot, pouring a cupful of near boiling liquid into my cup.

I nodded and gripped a silver teaspoon, placing two sugar cubes in the bottom of my cup. I flicked the spoon around the rim. The swirling motions created a tiny vortex in the little teacup. The cubes dissolved in the scalding fluid as vapors of steam rose into my face. The gentle aroma of brewed black tea aided in reminiscing of days past to a simpler time. Was it truly simpler, or had nostalgia gripped me through?

When I was but a fledgling witch hunter I used to sit by myself watching the sun depart over the horizon with a cup of tea. And in some ways I truly miss it. When a sense of right and wrong and good and evil still made sense to me. I thought I had the world figured out. How dead wrong I was.

"Would you like a spot of cream with your tea?"

"Sure."

A small but wide pot filled with white fluids poured from the tip and masked the blackness of my tea. I stirred and watched as it brightened somewhere between black and white.

Zenara gripped a small sugar cookie, dipping it within her tea. She placed the softened piece within her mouth and chewed methodically.

"Thavan."

"Yes?" I asked, having just sipped from the exquisite brew.

"Do you know why this pack of carefully selected skaven exists? Do you know the purpose behind why those five work together?"

I eyed a small wafer. My hand grabbed it. I bit it in half and savored the flavor. The nutty aroma and and light chocolate aftertaste was indeed pleasing.

"I'd wager a guess its purpose is to conduct high risk operations beyond enemy lines to disrupt, disorganize, and kill targets posing a threat to Lord Grodmoor's reign. I mean, that is what we have done so far."

"That is correct, at least that was before you arrived nearly a year ago."

My eyes lidded into slits and I watched her, wondering where this was going. "I'm listening." I said with an air of suspicion.

"Don't you see it, Thavan? They exist to protect you. Your expertise in combat has saved our lives twice now. Killing is your profession. You excel with blade and gun. A creature born to kill. It is what your order molded you into. I was wrong. I should have never said those words pertaining to Neeshi. I fear losing you. I would gladly sacrifice my own kind to see you live another day. Let me say this and make it clear; you matter to me. You, the person before. I'm a selfish creature Thavan, hellbent on ensuring what I want is within my reach. I've watched you grow into a man who overcame all before him. Your own kin fell short of your own drive. But this heart of yours, this heart beats with the life of humanity flowing through your veins." She pointed to my chest for emphasis.

"You're the only being on this damn rock I found solace within. This is why I'd sacrifice Neeshi, just to see you survive. Because I care for you, deeply and sincerely. I cannot hide my feelings for you. And this is why I can longer hide this from you."

It dawned on me at that instant. "You mean to tell me what you've kept hidden? Why the insistence now? What of your previous statement?"

"The ravings of a skaven acting too hasty for her own good. I should take a page out of your personality and learn to think more before I speak."

She sighed but proceeded. "I'm not going to mince words here, so I will state it as is. Thavan, I am responsible for the deaths of your men and your capture."

"What?" If I could see my eyes I can only imagine what she saw. Zenara's ears lowered and her hands trembled in her lap.

"It may not sound like much but there is an explanation for all of this."

"I certainly hope there is." The rising pit of unease and anger bubbled at the surface of words losing their meaning.

She nearly stalled at my response. Spurred by my rising instability, she pressed forward. "Long before I met you, Clan Vanmeek were a thorn in Grozen's side from the very beginning. They bowed before the might of Clan Pestilens in meek worship groveling at their feet. We knew far above on the surface a human city lay nestled between the foothills and trees of a vast forest. I may have set plans in motion for the miners to locate their base of operations in the hopes that a full scale invasion may proceed and your people will see the threat of the skaven menace your dwarfs warned you about. I was wrong. They sent a small party and...and I watched as they killed your men, leaving you as their prisoner. It was my fault. It was all my fault. I set everything in motion and my own ignorance failed to acknowledge an ulterior path. The Empire of Man and their superstition had foiled my plans. It was my fault your men died and it was my fault you suffered for four years. Only I had the chance to right the wrong I made."

Zenara placed the teacup on the table. Her hands shook so greatly the fluids spilled onto the fabric.

"I cannot bring them back. But you, you were an innocent soul swept up into something you should have had no part of. I spent four long years of my life, much to the dismay of those around me, searching for a means to free you from their grasp. I feel disgusted with myself daily. This is why I would never lay a finger on you. I deserve whatever you decide to do to me. It was my dream to make you happy, give you some semblance of a life flicked from your fingertips."

She hung her head in shame. The leaking fluid of tears spurt from her eyes, dousing her lap in the shame she held on for years. Her voice trembled in soft squeaks and her hands shook rapidly while her tail vibrated behind her.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to blame her for 4 years of misery. All of this was cause of her. There was a fiery rage coursing through my veins that wanted to kill her here and now. And then I am reminded when my temper lessens, how could I bring myself to do that though? Why should I berate her for something I'd have done were I her? My own people are to blame for their ignorance.

Staring at her, and basking in the glow of her innocence was something I had not thought possible. To see her pain firsthand moved me. Still, she wasn't off the hook that easy and this was my one chance to determine one final thought. What was this about happiness and the underlying meaning of it?

"Zen...hey Zen listen to me." Her hands worked with a rag, wiping the stain from the tea. My hands encircled around hers and helped her finish the cleanup.

She dropped the rag, looking at my eyes. "If you hate-loathe me, I won't hold it against you."

"Shh. Listen to me. I will not hold you accountable for what transpired. It is war and I know the horrors I've committed against men, women, and even children that worshiped chaos. They were all collateral damage. I was the same. But I need to know something."

"Yes, anything!" She blurted out as her voice cracked.

She fell right into my trap. "You stated with your own words you'd do anything to make me happy. Does this also imply that if Grodmoor suggested you become mine and in essence, mate with me, would you reciprocate those feelings only to bring a semblance of happiness to my life although those feelings aren't your own?"

Zenara stopped in her tracks. She froze. Her eyes spoke what words failed.

"Answer me, please." I asked calmly. All control rested within my lap.

"Do you believe my feelings for you are an imitation, conjured upward to ease you into becoming our ally?"

"You said you'd do anything to make me happy, verbatim. I only want to know that the person I have grown close to is not using me for what is beneath this flesh and blood."

Zenara inhaled deeply. My hand retracted from hers. Now was my chance to find out what has affected me and deterred me from pushing forward.

"I gave the report to Lord Grodmoor and informed him of your innate powers. He implied it may be wise to pull you under my wing as you seemed to listen to me better than the others."

"And?"

"...And he stated that I should become closer to you if I so desired. I was hesitant but complied. At first it was all I could offer in the hopes that I may better your time with us, but it has changed. I see a spark of life within you, a personality lying dormant, fearing that others may use you. I am not that type of female, Thavan."

"Is that so? Is this...is any of this even real? What you said to me when we scaled the surface for the first time together, was that real? How am I to know where the line was drawn?"

This seemed to instigate the skaven, lighting a fire beneath her and forcing her to take center stage. "For God's sake Thavan, would I jeopardize everything we strove toward together? Why now should I choose to destroy everything? You want honesty and I offer it here and now. This struggle, debating when and how I should come clean was the hardest decision I have made. What you and I have created is something I beg of thee to hold onto. I don't want to lose you, Thavan."

Zenara spoke, continuing where she left off, but where was her voice. Where had it gone for no words sounded? Was my mind blotting her out, a flicker of denial holding back what had come to a head? A nefarious source seemed the likely culprit. Of the two options I knew only the latter made the most sense.

And when all grew silent, Zenara faded from existence. Alone in a black room I sat whilst my thoughts and inner turmoil gnawed at my conscious. This empty place was a vapid wasteland offering nothing but the cold hard truth that I was alone all along...or was I?

"Do you see now Thavan?" Both those serving under The Empire of Man and Clan Grozen utilize you. A good soldier you believe yourself to be but they know a pawn when they see one. These species are but two sides of the same wretched coin. And you, my human, are but a pawn in their machinations. Tell me, if you will, what comes of thee when Thavan Vanamar no longer bears the title as the champion of their people? What do you believe Grodmoor might offer a loose end? Hmm?" Sensual, seductive and cold. This was the voice calling out to me.

Her long clawed fingers peered through the inky blackness of my mind, sliding between my arms and sides. Each finger worked individually of each other, fondling my face and body with precision. I shuddered in disgust upon the feeling of her touch.

"Are you any different daughter of chaos? You crave the power buried beneath this mortal soul of flesh and blood. There is no difference between those you are trying to turn me against and yourself. All of you desire what I may do."

"Don't lie to yourself, Thavan." Her words traveled to my ear, piercing and as cold as a gust of wind from the chaos wastes itself. I blinked and what was but an apparition of hands pooling through the darkness now gave way to her true presence. She stood over me, gazing down at my figure with vibrant and evil purple eyes. The haunting allure of their glow revealed all their was to know of my life and the shortcomings that followed.

"Once this war concludes and this skaven alliance proves victorious, there will be no place for you in this world. Grodmoor and Zenara's plans split a seem through this world and into ours. The current timeline and the plans of Archaeon and the Great Four were foiled in one stroke of destiny. Those like me have shed the mental shackles of slavery and forged anew. I know thine fears. I see your desperation to be accepted. You've amounted a good fight for many years but you need...no, crave companionship. You yearn for a wife and children. Do you truly believe that rats womb will sire your young? I am human, only stronger than those before. The evolutionary successor to a species born of weakness, and within here." She gripped my hand and pressed it several inches above her genitals. "I can grant you what you've always longed for but could not have. I will cast aside thine fears and thou will know peace."

I looked into her eyes. Neither my mouth or hands responded with words or gestures. She let go and sat down upon my lap, mashing her large breasts against my chest. Her hand tenderly reached for my cheek. I flinched, rejecting her affection.

All that she stated, was that truly what I longed for? Deep within my subconscious, I knew the answer to that.

"Just stop."

"Stop what?" She hissed.

"Stop this!" I demanded.

Blood spread through my loins and I groaned in labored breath. My organ pulsed with heat and need.

When she felt it pressed against her mons, a devilish grin warped over her porcelain features. "Do not worry. I have no intention of unwanted sexual advances. One mustn't say that same feeling is harbored by the rest of them." Her cunt ground down against my genitals. I breathed huskily and stared through lidded eyes.

What she said, what does it mean. What was she foreshadowing. Or was it more lies?

"I am by your side Thavan. And should you will it, this world will come to fear thy name. Our time has concluded. Such a shame truly. It was the highlight of the eve. Remember what I said." She tapped her temple for added emphasis.

"They will turn on you when this war ends. And if you still don't believe me, call upon me when 'they' are not within thine presence and I shall illuminate your life and blot out the darkness."

The ground fell out from under me. My body floated across an expanse of blackness. As soon as this happened, it came to a swift end.

Zenara's hand held my wrist. She gently shook it and called my name.

"Wha...what?" I stammered.

"Your eyes, they flashed a film of blackness left to right like the rising sun. They communed with you did they not?"

I searched for words that became impossible to reach the further I dwelled. "I wish that we drop the subject. There is nothing to say."

"Thavan..." Her hand gripped mine. "There's no reason you have to fight this battle alone. I'm here for you. I won't leave you."

What she said just now was too much for me. A sensory overload from a battle in my mind consumed everything. What was right and what was wrong?

She pulled me in closer and I recoiled, pulling my hand away and kicking out my chair. "I have to think about this. I don't know what to believe from you or them. All these goddamned voices in my head!"

My hand came down on the table. The teacups flattened to my aggression and sliced the flesh clean. The fluids burned the open wound but this unending numbness coursing through my veins lessened the pain.

"Zenara reached for my hand. "Thavan, let me help you please. Stop this."

I lashed out at her. "Don't touch me!" A rabid look in my eyes stalled her advance.

"I have to go." And just as soon as I joined her, I was gone.

# # # #

"On this day no longer shall our people grovel at the knees of the Grey Seers worshiping a false god!" Grodmoor declared a proclamation before the hundreds of thousands gathered before the ruins of Skavenblight to observe history in the making.

The warplock musket within his hand cracked at the behest of the trigger. A cloud of smoke belched and dispersed as the bullet passed by and lodged a round through the skull of a high ranking skaven. At such close range the ball easily cracked through bone and burst through the front. Eye and brain matter flew with it dancing through the sky, raining death and gore on those below. The body fell backwards as the skull smacked into the ground rather hard. The orifice pulse and a steady stream of crimson followed.

"No longer shall we kneel to a god that demands supplication but offers only ruin in return!"

Another musket ball flung through the air between his short quips. A Grey Seer collapsed face down in a pool of his own blood and piss. Those glossy dead eyes looked below, unblinking and unflinching. A death mask embodying the end as they know it. The Grozen Banner hung high over the hole in the earth. A symbol it was for all those that joined in this great crusade.

"I curse the grey seers and the horned rat! I curse them to the fiery lakes of hell! And those that side with them will meet the fate of their masters!"

The row of corpses leading down the runway proved to them he was one who held to his word. The bodies of the bound and gagged leaders of Skavenblight lay sprawled out across the carnage. The few that survived the destruction of their city met their end against the jeering masses.

Grodmoor holstered his firearm and gripped the final target in his steely grasp by the throat. Thanquol, stripped naked and denied his dignity, wheezed against the tightening grip of Grodmoor. He stared into the eyes of death itself, a face he thought long gone.

The bitter taste of blood flavored the back of his throat. Thanquol bit into his tongue, splashing the roof of his mouth in crimson. Grodmoor constricted downward until the windpipe snapped and the dead skaven grew limp in his grasp.

"On this day we rise as one skaven! As one people! The chaos won't relent and neither will we! To war!"

He flung the skaven over the ledge. The body cascaded down until it fell into the growing pit of corpses. And with this monument of death erected over the masses, Grodmoor stood before those subordinate to him. All was going to plan, now it was up to Thavan and Zenara to seal the deal with those who had a penchant for blood.

* * *

 **Hi there everyone! I got this one done much sooner than usual. I wanted to prove I can actually come out with chapters sooner than splitting them a month or more apart. And, I have been writing a lot more the past few weeks. I am hoping I can get this next chapter done soon and have it up in a few weeks. We will have to see. I know this chapter isn't an epic one like the last, but I hope you still enjoyed it. Have a great day everybody. See you all around.**


	11. Chapter 10

**I would like to place a disclaimer here that this chapter has some content that some of you might take offense to due to the nature of what is at play. you have been warned.**

* * *

Of Atonement And Salvation: The End Times

Chapter 10

Innocence Adrift

(Thavan Vanamar / Location – Grozen Capital / – Time – (10/1/19)

Clean, running water trailed down the length of my hair. The warm fluids invigorated my soul. Lapping at my bare flesh, the cuts and stings of dried wounds cried for mercy to the endless wave of artificial rain. Its warming caress and the lathered bubbly glob of soap intermingled as one. Oh have I forgotten the simple pleasures of this life while tucked away in that damn mechanical box they use to scurry us halfway across the world.

My hands ran across my naked, scar ridden frame. The lasting display of wounds told silent tails one might discern had they seen the bruised, tattered flesh of this mortal soul. There were a great many secrets hidden on this map of scars. Trials and tribulations paint a path of my success through the lasting effects marked on my flesh. I hope I may amount to something when this is all said and done, lest all this be for nothing.

Since our arrival, I've bathed myself once a day. This privilege would be short lived of course. Zenara and I would make our final trek to the Lahmian Capital and put an end to this. As to be expected, as soon as this journey concludes, another will take its place. There is no rest on this great journey.

The door within the bathroom opened. A cool draft crept in along with a soft, squeaky girly voice calling out to me. "Master Thavan, I did as you instructed. Your clothing has been cleaned and pressed per your specifications. Your witch hunter cap was damaged and stained beyond repair, though. We have a few spares designed just for you and run true to your size. I'll place the ensemble on the clothing rack beside where you bathe. Is there anything else this humble servant may offer thee?"

Her voice oozed with the desire to please. Anything I asked of her, she'd surely be happy to fulfill. There was no limit, according to the letter left to me by Lord Grodmoor.

"Thank you, Meeki. That'll be all for now." Through the translucent curtains, I observed Meeki perform a curtsy and depart, closing the door behind her.

Left to my thoughts once again, I thought of nothing but her: Zenara. No matter how hard I try, there is no successful way to truly push her from conscious. Like an apparition haunting an old mansion, she plagues my thoughts. What was real to me, was it truly real to her? No living soul on this planet may put my mind at ease concerning this subject. It is up to myself to rectify this.

I know behind this facade there are feelings burgeoning beneath the surface. Unlike the majority, I have a deep fondness for her and that is why this makes it all the more harder. Why am I so quick to shove aside the one I feel a connection toward? There may come a day where this chance will flutter between my fingers. What then?

Once I dried off and clothed myself I still felt those feelings nudging at me like a stray dog. These thoughts must be put to rest if I am to focus on the mission at hand. The doors closed behind and I left my quarters. Meeki waited for me by the entrance. Down the hall we moved with her close behind in the upper reaches of the Grozen Castle.

The I thought I lost Zenara for good tore at my heart. It took everything out of me not to lose it on the sandy steps of that collapsed pyramid. I believed for a scant moment our time together came to a close before I might utter the truth...that I love her. Something must be said for I cannot linger on this precipice any longer.

Meeki and myself strode through the winding stairwells. Higher and higher we walked till we made it to the top of the castles inner wall. The battlements overlooked the growing city had a clear view of the titanic mushrooms sheltering the Grozen Capital. They coruscated their luminescent blue onto the tiny structures below, lighting the world in a soothing cool hue.

Grodmoor waited at the northwest tower. The omnipresent post from where he sat loomed over the denizens where he might ply. I gotta hand it to him, no matter where he roams, he appears to be the one in power always. Guards protected the entrance leading up where he sat. When they saw Meeki and myself close the distance, they lowered their guard.

"Go on, Vanamar. He's waiting for you."

"I nodded my head. "Meeki, wait here. I will return."

"Yes master."

Up and through the winding stairwell I moved with purpose. A trickle of water fell through the superficial cracks and the sound of torches provided sound to the rather quiet surroundings. As I wound my way up and to the top, Grodmoor sat waiting, drinking as usual.

Two chairs and a lacquered table presented themselves at the edge of the great watchtower, overlooking his many pawns below. From the corner of his eye, he observed the motion of my body. The red, glowing orb made contact as he turned and greeted me. "Thavan, come. It is good to see you." Cordial as always.

"Likewise, Grodmoor, likewise."

"Sit with me." He beckoned, pointing at the unused chair.

I did just that.

Grodmoor gripped the bottle of honey mead and offered me a glass. A spare cup sat waiting for my enjoyment.

"Just a little."

He nodded. The bottle tilted between his fingers and fluids sparkling a golden hue flooded into the glass.

My eyes looked to the Grozen Lord. A black coat covered his person. Beneath the clothing a breastplate protected his chest. Grodmoor had seen better days. There were far more grey hairs in his muzzle this time around. This perfect persona that was calm and collected began to show wear. The cracks were there. One can only ponder what it is that has overwhelmed him.

"Tell me, Thavan, how is your relationship with Zenara?"

"That's a good question." I admitted. "Because I don't know."

"Why don't you take the time to offer your own insight into this matter? I've pried her concerning your relations with your fellow pack members. She has closed herself off. This distance and rigidness is unlike her. An exact opposite on how the others speak of you."

"And how is it they see me?"

He raised his eyebrows. Those red eyes stared at me with a subtle hint of interest. "I will not speak for them. Rest assured, there is nothing but praise. Your accomplishments stem far and wide. From the human world to ours, wherever you go, you are the rock that holds them together. What you did for Neeshi proved what I thought you capable of all along. You have become one of the greatest assets to this clan. You have my gratitude and thanks. From your eyes it was important you saw us for what we were. This is why you were left unshackled from the time we first met. Just know, you have exceeded my expectations."

The praise received left a sour taste in my mouth. I only did my job as anybody should.

"I was recruited to perform ones duty to the best of my ability. This is my career. Whether it be under the Empire of Man or the Grozen Empire." I spoke passively and somewhat quiet.

"Bullshit. You risked your own life to save Neeshi's and Ziv's before that. You retrieved the vial and you mended conflict between yourself and Sorn. You are an asset to this empire. You must realize this. The potential of Thavan Vanamar is there. It always has been. Beneath this exterior of hardened features and black leather there is a soul at the cusp of proliferating or faltering. I see no reason in letting you fall. You are one of us and I reward those who go above and beyond their duty. This is one of the many reasons I have entrusted a servant under you and funds distributed weekly. You might not be skaven, but Sigmar as my judge, you are Grozen." His tone and choice of words were unlike Grodmoor. Had I truly made this much of an impression?

Embarrassed was an understatement. If I could see myself I knew for certain my features were flushed. "Tha...thank you. I know not what else to state."

Grodmoor gripped his chalice and guzzled down the fluids. He then, without missing a beat, filled it once more.

"There's no need to say anything else. We have come full circle, Thavan, and that means we're back where we started. What is the state of your relationship with Zenara?"

There was no avoiding this topic. Sooner than later it must be revealed. "I believe I am in love with her. As the thought of courting Zenara comes front and center, I am incapable of acting on these impulses. I mean, aren't you and Zenara...?" I widened my eyes and placed emphasis on that last sentence.

Grodmoor roared a phlegmy guffaw which resulted in a nasty cough. "You believe her and myself to be betrothed? Ha! Now that's a good one, Thavan. Zenara and I share an intimate relationship dedicated to the containment of The End Times. That is all. When this is over, I believe she'll have moved on now that her people will be free. Zenara is a recluse by nature. Ruling over her species is the last thing she'd consider."

Grodmoor sat back, deep in contemplation. He stared at one of the many mushrooms glowing their bluish aura across the vast cavern. It seemed to move him. Come to think of it, whenever I stared at their soft colors they seemed to vibrate a calming feeling that carried over to ones thoughts. I know I've felt it.

"I've never discussed this topic with anybody. I trust, within your care, this knowledge is safe. I have reason to believe Zenara resents the males of her species. They altered the physiology and genetic makeup of our women. It is only natural she er on the side of caution. These abominations at one point in time very well might have been Zenara's future. That thought alone would drive me to hate them had I been her. I cannot blame nor would I do such a thing. I only hope, no, I pray that she may find peace within this burden she carries and one day move on from all of this."

The rim of the chalice ran against his lips. He swallowed it down to the last drop. A sigh soon followed.

I was just about to break the silence when he turned to me. "Thavan, I think it is wonderful news that these feelings for her are true. You should pursue what you heart yearns for. Zenara adores you. I've seen her place your happiness above her own time and time again. You have managed to find a side in her she has sequestered away. The two of you deserve happiness. I know your creed along with your witch hunters code has stymied thee from sullying your honor. Conservative values are honorable. Holding true to your moral compass shows the merit within. But your people believe you to be dead. And even you deserve a piece of joy in this weary world."

The words he stated were the last thing I expected to come out of his mouth. "You mean to tell me you support a human courting the second in command of your species?"

"Absolutely." He proclaimed without the slightest inkling of hesitation.

"If the second in command is courted by a human, that can only do good. It will prove to the outside world we are no longer the vermin once infesting tunnels and sewers of yesteryear. The old corrupt ways have come to a close. You have my blessing, Thavan, if that is what you seek. Now then, I have something I'd like to show you. Come with me if you would." Grodmoor gestured for me to follow.

"As you know we have won the greatest battle in skaven history. There are many pockets of resistance scattered throughout the lands that my generals are cleaning up at this moment, but our domination over this species has come to a head. One Skaven, one clan. We are Grozen. The greatest minds of skaven society are now under my fold. You will see shortly what their grimy little paws have conjured in my workshops."

No more words were spoken. I followed him down the stairwell and onto the battlements. The honor guards trailed Grodmoor and Meeki remained close to me.

"This means Zenara and I will return to the Silver Pinnacle to establish a treaty?"

"Indeed. When you take your leave ensure Hiseelia receives this." Grodmoor placed a piece of parchment with a wax seal marked by the Grozen emblem within my hand.

"This is the proof Neferata requires. I've been informed Hiseelia requested you to return with Zenara. I know not what she wants from you, but I assure you your life is not something you should fear. Neferata has granted you safe passage. Her second in command knows the consequences of disobedience is paramount to suicide."

"Until I attest to what she has planned, I have no comment on the subject." Grodmoor quieted. It was futile to proceed with this when he knew where I stood.

"Not to change the topic, but I know you read my report." I eyed him. Apprehension gripped my face. "Experience deemed I spoke of this to you in person. So, I omitted it from my report within the desert campaign."

He raised an eyebrow and led me within the many halls of the castle. "You have my attention, Thavan. Speak your mind."

We passed by an assembly area at the entrance of the castle. Guards held back the tide skaven aching to see Grodmoor. They cheered at the sight of their Lord.

"Do you recall that theory you spoke of after my encounter with the chaos in their dimension?"

"Of course."

"You theorized that there may be a splinter faction forming within. I now have evidence confirming your thoughts to be correct. That daughter of chaos I referenced in the report protected us. She stopped the followers of Slaanesh from pinpointing our location from the moment they tore through the portal. We'd have died were it not for her. This worries me greatly. If a schism splits the chaos in two or more, this only serves to help us. And yet, I am trembling in fear at this prospect. You know the influence they hold over me. You know the traumatizing experiences I've felt. Grodmoor, I'm petrified that I...that her...vo- voice may overwhelm my senses and I will hearken to her calling."

Grodmoor stopped as did his guards. Meeki stumbled forward and into my back. She squeaked in panic. I paid her no mind as she apologized relentlessly. The Grozen leader eyed me up and down before speaking.

"You are have nothing to fear. The fact that you mention this tells me you still stand on the path of the righteous. If not, well...I won't live to see it for the world will have ended. Your faith in God and our might will see you through. We have to win. It is the only way. You of all people know what is on the line. She can be used and exploited but never trust her. They speak of promises laden with honey and dripping with poison."

I placed my hand on his bulky shoulder. "The struggles I have faced and your words of encouragement are a breath of fresh air to this world weary soul. Thank you." I nodded and let go.

Grodmoor turned and continued on. "We all need that voice of encouragement to lift our spirits when we have reached the bottom. When this concludes, Thavan, you will always have a home under a Grozen banner. Now, enough with this sentimental discourse, I have something you need to see, and I have every reason to believe it will suit your tastes."

# # # #

(Thavan Vanamar / Location – Grozen Experimental Wing / – Time – (10/1/19)

Electrical pylons fired blue beams of energy into tesla coils. The screeching whine and discharge was heightened only by the cacophonous screech of ex Skryre engineers bickering amongst themselves. Since my last visit, much has changed.

Weapons and gadgets beyond my understanding slid down assembly lines under the watchful eyes of foul tempered engineers. They were inspected and run through rigorous stress tests by scrutinous warlocks and slaves for the experiments that presented a danger to the user. Piles of black ash needn't take much to picture what happened to the unlucky ones. There was also a strong taste of gunpowder in the air. It brought a sense of normality to this alien facility.

Tattered robes lay draped over the armored bodies of skaven engineers embossed with Grozen emblems and dipped in the colors of Grodmoor's empire. Black with blue accents gave a sense of uniformity to all members within this faction, including myself.

Same as before, many squeaked and squawked in their mother tongue. Although, this time around some spoke my language clearly and fluently beneath their metallic masks.

At the head of this operation was none other than the hot tempered Skruuk with his many accommodations and medals strapped to his grey robes for all to take a gander upon his magnificence. His black fur was matted with chemicals and other unmentionables that smelled of artifice. His eyes gazed upward and at me with magnified spectacles enlarging the size of those familiar rat-like eyes.

"Ah, Lord Grodmoor and his faithful pet. Come to see what I've made and bask in the glory of future warfare?"

His harsh voice carried itself much better this time around. There was no obvious stutter nor repeat of words.

"I see you've come to learn my language, Skruuk. No skaven mannerisms to speak of. Does the world still revolve around you?"

To his credit, he remained silent and eyed the weapon on the stand he was toying with. "I will not allow someone beneath me like yourself to get a rise out of me. Come, human. Lord Grodmoor insisted I bring you up to speed upon our latest endeavors."

"You?" A much more stern and gnarly voice called out among the chaos.

A taller and bulkier skaven in armor embossed with many skaven etchings and a black cape to boot, strode toward us.

"It was my creation. You will sink back to your hole Skruuk. I will carry over from here." That was final. The skaven shrunk back to his own devices like the good little rat he was.

This other one faced me. Those deep red eyes seemed to be analyzing everything about me. "So, this is the human who walks among us. I am Lord Kreevan. One who once carried the honor of being second in command of Skryre. The technology of this empire is traced back to my lineage. There is much to see and so little time. Won't you follow?"

We both walked a brief distance to an unfamiliar firearm sitting upon a table. As I stood there he reconnected the barrel and placed the weapon on the stand.

"What sort of weapon is this?" I was nothing short of being perplexed at the anomaly. It looked nothing like a musket.

"Maintain yourself human and remove the flow of drool would you? It's embarrassing. What you're staring at is a first of its own kind. A prototype firearm if you will? Only now are we taking this specimen and beginning the procedure to mass produce it. The grip and the body are constructed from moorian ore. Most of the internals are also heavily reliant on said material that can be mined from Grodmoor's capital. This ore has higher tolerance than previous weapons such as that aging musket most firearms are built from. For example, the trigger is a two stage system. Pull once and it fires one round. Pull harder and it turns into a fully automatic hand-cannon. As you may notice, there is no means to reload once your firearm is spent. Allow me to demonstrate."

His hand gripped the handle and pulled a small lever sticking out from the rear iron sight. The slide ripped open revealing a small hole at the top of the gun, smack dab in the middle. Right above the grip.

"There are guiding rods that support clip fed bullets that come in pairs of ten. Drive the clip down and push the bullets in with your thumb. Repeat said process twice, and you may carry twenty rounds of superior quality as opposed to the musket balls of old." Kreevan pulled from his person a 'clip.' 10 of these bullets lay within some sort of casing.

"These aren't your traditional ball round. They are copper cased bullets filled with liquid bluestone that eject the casing upon firing. Accuracy has doubled and trauma sustained from the bullet wounds is...beyond satisfactory." His unhealthy chuckle and grin showed a stark contrast from him and Skruuk. This one seemed to revel in pain and violence.

"And finally, the reason the barrel is bulbous in relation to the frame was due in part by a drawback we have no current means of rectifying. Water feeds through internal tubes that keep the barrel cool under excessive use. If you run out of water the barrel will overheat and explode, sending shrapnel into the user and effectively eliminating them. There is a small reservoir on the right side of the gun that I encourage you to familiarize yourself with. And per Grodmoor's instructions, the gun is given a blackened appearance with the blue and red Grozen logo embossed on the handle with Zenara's skull above that." Kreevan huffed and pulled out a flask. Are all the higher ups within skaven society alcoholics? Goddamn.

"May I test it?" My face turned to Grodmoor, hoping my inquiry would become a reality.

Grodmoor nodded.

Kreevan pushed his hand out and extended his clawed fingers. The gun rested on his palm, waiting for me to grasp it. "It's yours. You operate with some of Grodmoor's finest. It is to be expected that the very best goes to them, including you. Come along now. I'll take you to the place where you may fire this beauty."

"Lead."

And lead he did, through the main workshop and many corridors with engineers working on different weapons, armor and all manner of oddities. One must ask what else were they designing?

We walked for a time till Kreevan came upon a large iron door. Save for this entrance there was no other visible means of entry. At the center was a circular handle that took both hands to crank open. A sharp hiss followed and the handle spun of its own volition. The door opened wide into a sound dampening firing room. At the back corner of the room, beyond the firing stations there were targets lined up along the walls. Made of parchment, I presumed.

I walked forward and stood roughly twenty or so feet from the targets. Kreevan stood beside me and placed 2 stripper clips on the table. "I hear you're good with a gun. Do put on a good show, will you?"

I raised an eyebrow and recalled when their last firearm they handed me nearly became the death of me.

As if reading my own thoughts, Kreevan said, "So long as it doesn't jam, you have nothing to worry, human! I take great pride in creating weaponry that kill-kills!" He laughed a maniacal boisterous laugh filled with the thirst for carnage. A skaven after my own heart.

I turned from him and racked the slide release backward and into the hold open position. I noted immediately there was added heft to the firearm. It was front heavy, but with the ammo, that should nullify that issue.

My hand gripped the clip. My eyes gazed down at the copper casing and glowing blue tips. These clear, glass-like tips ensured the bluestone within was not only visible to the naked eye but contained until fired. Further down the bullet the glass gave way to a metallic shield crimped within a copper casing. All this jargon was new to me. A guns a gun. Once I used it, it would all make sense.

Or...perhaps I spoke too soon. The operation of this weapon differed greatly from my auto musket. Still, it seemed to only build upon that original design. But the layout and functionality stumped me. There was only one way to confirm all of this. With the first clip sitting between my fingers, I lowered the pistol and looked for the small indents in the metal that acted as guiding rods to support the entry of these stripper clips. As I pressed down the clip drove into the guiding chamber. Now it sat with the bullets still connected to the clip. I looked to Kreevan as I was already lost even though he just explained minutes ago what to do.

"With your other hand place your thumb atop the bullet and press down, effectively stripping the clip yes-yes."

I did as he instructed. The bullets fed into the internal magazine. With the bullets now stripped from the clip, I pocketed it. I repeated this process twice. When the bullets fed into the magazine this time, the clip shot out as the slide surged forward, launching the top bullet into the firing chamber. It was ready to fire as it snapped shut.

As if corroborating my thoughts, Kreevan stated in his gruff tone, "It's ready, fire."

In one hand I held the bizarre weapon. The front heavy issue I noticed before was negligent with a full magazine. That didn't change the fact it was heavy for a sidearm. I cupped the grip with my left hand and breathed out, staring down the built in iron sights.

My finger eased into the trigger. The smoothness and resistance of the trigger pull was incomparable to the wooden musket of old. It functioned flawlessly. A shrill hiss whined and a loud boom exploded from the tip. Steam fled from the holes in the side vents of the barrel and a flash of fire burned at the exit. The casing flew out the top and the bullet hit center mass of the paper target.

At the sight of such resounding results I pressed harder and activated the two stage trigger. The second click shrieked a steamy roar and violent hellfire as bluestone powered bullets left their home and peppered the target. The residue splattered leaving droplets of the blue liquid through the holes of the parchment. The recoil was excessive to my untrained hands but manageable as I pressed down to compensate for the climb. When the last bullet departed the chamber, the slide pushed back and locked open. All that remained was to admire my handy-work. Sure, there could have been better results had I taken my time but something came over me and I wanted to see just what this could do. I wasn't disappointed.

"My God!" I squealed. Composure long lost in the throes of excitement. It seemed my personality reverted to a child on holiday.

Both Grodmoor and Kreevan grinned at my excitement. "Seeing a human admire a weapon of war warms this heart of mine. I think I could grow to like someone like him. There was reservations, indeed. After seeing this display, I feel no doubt in my decision."

Grodmoor nodded. I on the other hand ignored the two and spoke aloud. "This design is unlike anything of this world. It could grant us the upper hand in a conventional war against the chaos."

Grodmoor agreed. "This also requires us to have the numbers. A place we are lacking. Let alone, there aren't enough guns to go around yet. This is Kreevan's moment, I will stop."

He walked past Grodmoor and took the firearm from my hands. "There are many reasons why these are no longer called muskets as I am sure you now see. We've been calling them handguns. Others have referred to them as pistols, or more appropriately, a machine pistol as it is capable of fully automatic fire. Incidentally, there are other weapons on the assembly lines. Bolt rifles for long range and liquefied bluestone are here to replace our traditional poison wind gas. Newly augmented flamethrowers are being constructed to withstand the rigors of bluestone thanks to Moorian Ore. And, we have even begun construction of machine guns for emplacements. Soon the Gatling Gun will be a piece of history. Our catapults are being converted into long range cannons capable of devastating results. An arms race has begun to counteract The End Times. And I get to lead this empires rise into a grand conquest that which this world has yet to see. We will bury them." His voice rang with the undeniable belief that he was right.

"May your weapons reign down the wrath of God upon these abominations. No quarter shall be offered in this hellish and gory tug of war. Waist deep in blood, the end will not come until the very last one dies in a blaze of gunfire. We will crush them into the hell from whence they came. Goddamn them all."

Kreevan smirked a toothy grin. "He's good." He nudged Grodmoor. "Bring more humans like him under our fold and I will actually feel sorry for all the humans I tested weapons on...well, only partially."

"I'm standing right here."

"Yes, I can see that." He grunted, oblivious to the meaning.

"Thavan, you will be given new weaponry both ranged and melee based. On your next assignment you will be granted first pick. The guns yours." Grodmoor nodded to Kreevan who gave it back to me. Both nodded in confirmation.

"If I may excuse myself, I have to ready for my departure and there is something I must contend with before I leave."

"Don't let me keep you waiting. Be sure to come and see me in the armory before you depart."

I agreed. And that was it.

# # # #

(Thavan Vanamar / Location – Grozen Workshop / – Time – (10/1/19)

The smell of oil and other odorous scents carried over, saturating the clean air in stagnant fumes. Everywhere my eyes gazed there was a handful of skaven gathered around working upon all manner of vehicles. Artillery with legs like a spider lay partially dissembled with skaven on pulley systems working round the clock on assembling the main components of the gun. One wrong slip and the fall below ensured they'd be nothing more than a bloody smear on the rocky ground. Thankfully, I wasn't a mechanic.

I stepped over a handful of skaven on their hands and knees working underneath some new vehicle. It certainly didn't lack for firepower as a main cannon and side machine guns guaranteed the flanks were secure.

"You sure this is sanitary? I feel my lungs gagging for fresh air this very moment."

"But of course. Whether your organs give out to black lung or not is irrelevant - The End Times'll kill us first." Varron stated as a matter of fact with a tool in his hand and oil covering most of his face.

"Gimme that rag, would yah?"

Above him a set of tools and supplies rested on a stand. I handed him one of the oily rags to which he gladly obliged. His hands wiped his oil matted fur, removing most of the gunk.

"Sides, what can I do for yah? It's not often-normal I see you within my stomping grounds."

This was my chance. "To be frank, I want to learn how you operate the Death Treader. I'm not simply speaking upon how one drives it but to maintain it and care for it as well. If Zenara were to fall Ill on our journey, we'd be stranded."

He placed his tools down and stood, wiping oil from his clawed hands. "How many days before you leave?"

"Oh I dunno, it depends on Zenara. Three at the most?"

"That's enough. Help me fit this tread along the sprocket wheel and you'll get your tutor."

Wonderful. All was as it seemed. If only he knew my true reasoning behind this...

# # # #

(Thavan Vanamar / Location – The Silver Pinnacle / – Time – (10/15/19)

The smell of incense and perfume danced along my nostrils. The long and seemingly endless halls of the Lahmian capital may have offered me some sort of closure for this part of our journey was nearing its end. Unfortunately, for my sanity, that same skin fetishist from our last visit stood within the hall, blocking our path beyond. Its dead, empty eye sockets did little to control that piercing gaze. In fact. I'd say it only heightened its stare as rays of light shined through its hollow skull. Even though its eyes had long since rotted away there was this itchy tingle at the back of my neck, warning me of its uncanny presence and the thoughts it harbors behind the magical bonds that preserve its undeath.

Beyond the undead creature a laminate stairwell preserved a well detailed mural of Neferata rising above her subjects and over this spire she commands from. Where the mural ends the stairwell came to a level area where multiple stairwells snaked and winded through the labyrinthine maze of seemingly endless rooms and halls. As I gazed upward where no light shined, the peak of The Silver Pinnacle faded into darkness.

At the sound of its inhuman voice calling to me, I leveled my gaze. "I trust your journey here was satisfactory my darlings?"

Zenara spoke for me. "It was. I'm sure your masters already know of our findings.

The skeletons head turned in a crooked fashion and its jaw opened. "I will leave that for them to determine. You'll find they are more...discerning than myself." It raised its hand to its mouth and giggled daintily.

A nauseating feeling crept through my bowels and up my throat when it turned to me. "Oh, I know I am overstepping my boundaries as a lady but would you be so kind as to accompany this fragile soul up these daunting stairs?"

'Her' skeletal hand rose up and out, waiting for me to place mine into hers. I visibly cringed and turned to Zenara for guidance if anything to spare me this travesty. She shrugged, appearing as confused as myself. Why must they tempt me with burning down their establishment every single time I step foot in this abomination?

Begrudgingly, I relented. My feet stepped forward, slow and methodical as if trying to stop this stupid soul from being placed on display to be mocked. Flesh met the cold, bony texture of her hand as the frigid digits squeezed mine, leeching the warmth from my flesh.

A gleeful display of power conveyed control through its nearly featureless skull as it realized there was great dissatisfaction in my face. That toothy grin mocked me. What I wouldn't do to crush its skull from its body. Still, this is their way of winning and that is what I cannot allow. Obey, smile, and let them think they have not taken advantage of me. Should I chastise, they will only take from it and expand upon my misery.

Her hand squeezed mine, interlocking our digits. The feeling of the cold, lifelessness of death and the touch of warmth from the hand of the living united as one. And I was part of this insanity.

We scaled the stairs as I saw the lush and vibrant crimson colored walls with silver inlaid handrails stripping me back to a time when I lurked through balls-rooms filled with food and drink. The intemperance of excess. Vampires are such gaudy creatures by nature. Extravagance is their vice. And through this I hunted them in their own domain. They, believing themselves to be the superior race met a stake through the heart by a lone hunter who valued naught, not even his own life. This place haunts me and reminds myself how little I valued myself years ago.

We happened upon a flat landing bisected on either side by those stairwells leading to all manner of different places and directions. In front of us another mural of Neferata herself covered the wall from top to bottom and side to side. No less than one hundred meters in height and several scores in width only added to its imposing design.

Neferata gazed down upon her subjects with venomous, scarlet eyes. Long locks of black hair spiraled down her back. On top of her head a crown of gold with jewels indented in sockets along with runes revealed her Nehekharan roots. Full lips coated in red lipstick accentuated her eye color. A voluptuous chest presented a pair of pendulous breasts beneath the confines of a red and black corset. A long and overflowing dress preserved her modesty.

Her outstretched dagger like hands encircled a depiction of our planet floating in the foreground. Rings and circlets covered her hands while her black nails edged so close to the globe. The world was her oyster and we were her puppets.

"How long would something like this take to paint?" I inquired.

The skeleton twisted its head upon my question. "Longer than you've drawn breath, I assure you." She purred and goaded me to the rightmost path, dragging me toward our destination. Wherever that may be.

"Where in Sigmar's world are we headed?"

It shook at the utterance of my God. "Why, to Hiseelia of course." The innocence behind her words warned me to be ready.

A fallen witch hunter come to deliver a tool capable of eradicating his enemies major weakness so one lesser evil may battle a greater evil is ironic is it not? Or, has desperation become our only means of survival? What a time to be alive.

The stairwell led a great many flights up into the higher reaches of this beautiful yet ghastly tower. It burst at the seems with color and vibrancy but lacked one major component: life. Where was everybody? Whenever we made an appearance, this spire was as lifeless as a graveyard.

At the top of the stairs candlelabras on either side of the walls supported by chandeliers lit the seemingly endless hall. Was this all a mirage - a hallucination within my mind? Though I have never seen The Silver Pinnacle from the outside, the interior layout made no logical sense.

We walked down this endless maze until a door several meters down hissed open, creaking to life as if beckoning us within. The tension rose and a cold feeling like dead hands touched the nape of my neck. My hand instinctively jerked free from the skeleton.

It turned and watched as droplets of sweat formed along my brow. "Why, it's as if you've seen a ghost, Vanamar. Your fragile mind conspires against you, drawing conclusions before the truth is revealed. You are our guest and ally. Neferata approves of this. Now come my children, my masters grow tiresome and yearn to learn of your travels."

She waited beside the door with bowed head and skeletal hand outstretched, welcoming us within. Zenara and I looked to one another. Now was the time. We'd give them what is essentially power over humanity and I'd learn what it is Hiseelia requested I return for. Let this chapter of my life conclude, please?

The barrier of walls separating us from whatever lurked behind that wooden frame came to a close when the two of us entered within. A gust of wind triggered the door to shut behind us. We were trapped. Was it that conniving skeleton or supernatural forces?

Seated at the head of an unusually long black table with a translucent veil over her head was Neferata's second in command. The glow of her red eyes pierced the fabric like tiny moons orbiting my face.

Hiseelia parted the veil and nodded for us to take our seats. Her porcelain white skin, ruby red lips and gaunt cheeks all came together in one cocktail that exemplified her imposing features. I could not deny there was an allure there that only added to her insidious nature. Hiseelia was nothing short of beautiful. Beneath that mask there was only trickery and death. No wonder so many men have fallen to the Lahmian's power.

Within my pocket I pulled the parchment I was instructed to bring. "From Grodmoor." I grunted whilst eyeing Hiseelia. She nodded in return and I placed it on the table. With a flick of my finger, it breezed to her side.

Now that that was concluded, Zenara sat beside me. She began rummaging in her robes as I looked up, noticing the ceiling - or lack thereof. The roof was nothing more than black nothingness reaching so far no light may dare to wander.

"The skaven capital is a graveyard; its destruction now visible from the surface. Hell Pit, the last major skaven holdout is crumbling before our might as we speak. Most are either dead or have joined us out of fear. To honor this alliance as instructed, we have this."

There it was, the fruits of our labor; an elixir of untold power now lay cradled between her fingertips. Hiseelia's eyes raped the vial in crimson glee. "Splendid. All has gone according to plan. And you brought Vanamar. You've done as I instructed. May I formally honor this binding of The Grozen Empire and The Lahmian Sisterhood as one against the forces of chaos. Your war is ours."

Her hand flicked. Black flames erupted from thin air just within her reach. As they dispersed, a piece of parchment and a small pin appeared from the flames. She snatched it from the air and placed both upon the table.

On the parchment where both signatures met was a small sharp nub jutting out. Hiseelia pressed down, breaking the skin on her thumb and stamping her finger on the paper. "A mutual exchange of blood, sealing us together forever. Thavan, would you do us the honors?" Sure, she suggested, but that was truly a demand masked by friendliness.

The parchment waved through the air and landed in front of me when Zenara placed the vial on the table. The tip of the nub, stained in blood, waited to taste its next meal. I reached down with my thumb, pressing deep. The tip tore through skin, revealing my life-force. My finger pressed back and stamped down on top of her bloody thumbprint. The blood mingled together and marked this unholy union.

The parchment hissed. Above our 'signature' invisible ink reacted to our blood. In near perfect cursive script Neferata's signature leaked through, finalizing this agreement.

"The blood pact is complete. May our allegiance endure for eternity." Hiseelia smiled dreamily.

Zenara snatched the seal when a peculiar sound startled her. Her long and dexterous ears flicked back and forth rapidly to the tune of something I made no comprehension of. The finer details were left to her perceptive sense of sound.

It started as faint humming coming from deep within my ears. I could have swore they were ringing from the excessive explosions and gunshots they've been subjected to. Though the sound, only grew. Humming turned to whispers. This meaningless drivel had no structure or understanding. They were of the void, words spoken in reverse and entirely unnatural.

A whirling gust of wind carried these voices from high above. And when I looked up, they were there. Black translucent hands, long and spindly swirled downward from the blackness above. Those hands born from the ghostly grasp of a specter swayed below until they pervaded the room, moving in mass from all corners in a spiraling pattern. Their shadows cast malicious intent across the walls and over the fireplace. The voices grew in such intensity I felt myself losing focus as the bounds of reason and normality faded.

A pair swooped down and tenderly cupped the vial in its grasp like that of an infant child. Retreating to the blackness, they and the other shadows followed suit. As the impossibly long and clawed hands returned, wherever their fingers touched, light died. No candle was saved as every source of warmth extinguished.

The beacon of light that remained was her glowing eyes watching me with hunger. And as I blinked, she was gone.

"Zenara, we need to go. Now."

Hands reached out from behind me, pressing my shoulders down and keeping me within my seat. "You are our ally now. Neferata will not dishonor this alliance. We'd _never_ kill you." Her husky voice dragged like honey laced through syrup.

I quivered and pulled myself from her grasp, standing as the lights flicked on once again. I turned, seeing her standing level with me.

"Her head faced Zenara's "You'll wait here until instructed by my confidant."

Crimson touched eyes reverted to me. "And you have unfinished business. Until it concludes, you will remain here."

"Hold your tongue blood drinker. Were my intentions of a different nature, do you in your infinite wisdom believe me to be a trickster? That is inherently a trait borne within your kind. You've got me where you want me. Lead."

"Gladly."

# # # #

Deep, within the upmost reaches of The Silver Pinnacle, Thavan followed an ominous figure bearing an uncanny resemblance to a vampire that nearly claimed his life years ago. Elizabeth, Hiseelia's sister had come so close to snatching the world out from under him when he was but a juvenile witch hunter.

If he knew then what he knew now, would he believe his life would come to this? The former witch hunter turned skaven recruit trailed a bloodsucker within her own home. They were allies. This revelation no doubt sickened the human. He knew were there any other way, he'd alter course. The End Times saw fit to smash that.

The highest reaches of The Silver Pinnacle smelled of sweet aromatics and shined with lavish trinkets under glass displays. Full suits of armor claimed from the men they killed now stood at attention on support racks. A trophy forever preserved from their final battle confronting a species so dastardly evil and conniving. Only one who stooped to their level might glean from the darkness in which the Lahmian's inhabit.

"Where are we going?" This question, asked by Thavan, unveiled a level of apprehension in his voice that was not present in his mannerisms.

"You'll see soon enough." Her words danced along the cool air.

Thavan shivered. Her voice raked like tiny daggers splitting superficial wounds across his naked flesh. His body shrunk back in the clinging darkness and he raised his collars around his neck for good measure.

"Why is this damn place so empty? Where is everyone?" Pondered Thavan.

"They're here." She assured him. "Open your eyes, Thavan."

The human tested fate and chose to follow the literal path in which she spoke. His eyes closed shut and when they opened, the human regretted ever questioning her. Scores of female vampires around every corner and hall stood before him with wanton eyes and dagger-like nails beckoning him to draw closer. Their decorative dresses and perfect hair masked unsavory intentions. And that glow, hundreds of red eyes glistened in delight at the sight of a warm, mortal male. The fact he despised them only inflamed their undying hunger further.

A scant few things in this world truly frightened Thavan Vanamar. Vampires were one of them. A secret he'd carry to the grave before he'd allow his human peers to discern the truth. Against the masses there was no mistaking the visible fear and trepidation in his step and quivering submission. Driven to such base desires as that of survival, Thavan clung to Hiseelia's arm like a lost child.

"Oh, have the mighty fallen. Beneath that cold exterior there is no difference between those born under the Cult of Sigmar and they who till the fields for the coming harvest." She stalled, tilting her head to the side and smirking. Fangs peered through the snow-white teeth.

Thavan recovered, pulling himself from her. The visible disgust he expressed outlined his features from top to bottom. When he gazed over his shoulder they who stared at him in mocking fashion were gone - vanished before his very eyes. Within these halls they were alone again. A soft gust of air touched his back, carried by the wind a gentle laugh toyed with him. Were they truly alone?

"A great many lives now lay in graves from those hands you utilized in painstaking finesse to cut down our people. Hundreds of my sisters yearn to experience what's it like to split thine veins and taste the source. You, the bane of our species was destined to be its champion. As the end draws nigh, isn't it rather peculiar what others will subject themselves to so they might preserve their life?"

For better or worse, he held his tongue and followed her to a short flight of stairs leading to a singular door away from the many halls and stairwells behind them. Each step she took, ignited candlelabras on either side of the hall. She stopped when she reached the door, turning on her heels and waited for him.

"Why do you speak in these cryptic hidden messages. If you have something to say to me then state your case. Are we here?"

"So impatient. Do not fret witch hunter. Our destination lies within." She smiled standing at the entrance.

It creaked open as she bowed her head and placed her arm out, pointing within. "I was only making conversation with the murderer of my sister."

Those words forced him to pause. Her cold and insidious demeanor revealed itself while Thavan stood there in the gap between the point of no return. Her eyes were closed and her head nodded, assuring him all was well. Vanamar's breath abandoned him and his body trembled when he stepped forward and into the blackness within.

This pitch black room offered no warmth as he stood there frozen and the cracks of light peered through into the inky blackness. The thump of his heart and the pulse of blood through his veins grew so loud that it consumed his thoughts. In some unforeseen turn of events he could feel the slithering fluids within, traveling to all parts of his body. The experience was unheard of and he prayed that it may end. Wet droplets of sweat trickled down his neck, dampening the leather tunic.

Somewhere within a sweet soothing aroma lowered the tension if only slight. Was it vanilla or lavender? The unorthodox scent was indescribable. Although, this question would undoubtedly evade him as every candle within that room burst to life and revealed what was in store for Thavan.

A soft and warm yellow glow welcomed him to a peculiar oddity. His face scrunched in confusion. Before him was Hiseelia's very own bedroom. The terror that awaited Thavan...was this? He blinked and the image of torture chambers, droplets of blood, and corpses flashed on by. Why here?

A spacious and very decorative room presented a massive canopy bed with translucent red curtains with black accents and silver trimmed tassels. The black, velvety blankets were neat and tucked in while the red pillows were fluffed and ready for use. It was a perfect piece of furniture in mint condition. A rug rested at the foot of the bed. To be more specific, it was a pelt of some animal dispatched long ago.

At the end of the room were racks of wine bottles with names on them. Each one was untouched with their corks still attached. There was no doubt within his heart, what swirled behind that glass bottle also swam within his veins.

Why of all places did she bring him here? And then, like the haunting melodious cry of a banshee in the midst of a graveyard under a pale cold moon had it finally clicked for this ill fated hunter. Thavan turned on his heels when the heavy door slammed in his face. In vain the human gripped the knob and rammed his fist into the door. Punch after punch, flesh crushed into wood as nails dug into the finish, chipping away at the paint. His incessant cries for help were forever shunned behind the soundproof barrier. He was trapped in this hell.

A presence encroached upon him. He could feel the tendrils of darkness looming over him, blotting out all else. The mindless pleas seeking salvation silenced when he turned to face judgment in vampiric form. Hiseelia observed his pathetic countenance. The terror coursing through his mind and features brought boundless glee upon her wretched soul.

"An eye for an eye my sweet. It is only fair. You granted no sympathy for my dear sister. You are lucky for I am generous and when this night concludes, you'll still have your life...perhaps."

Thavan lost all sense of rhyme or reason. His fist wound up into a haymaker. She watched the pitiful attack breeze by in slow motion. She offered no resistance as the skin made contact with her jaw. The flesh rippled and a trickle of blood slid down the crack of her lip. Thavan groaned. The bones in his hand ached and creaked. Had he punched any harder and those fingers may have snapped. He vibrated his hand rapidly, intending to nullify the pain whilst Hiseelia looked down. The droplet of blood slid down to the edge of her chin and broke from her flesh. The droplet stained the carpet and she gazed upward. Lips peeled backward, providing him a glimpse of her darkened smile.

Hiseelia knew damn well his sluggish attempt at harming her may have been avoided at her leisure. The control over him and the power she oozed was irresistible and she wouldn't have it any other way.

"My turn." She beamed from ear to ear. The startling white coloration of a maw full of fangs gnawed at Thavan's subconscious.

Within his coat he yanked out a stake. The intended target to be was none other than her defenseless heart of course. The pointed end drove down for her chest. Unfortunately for him, it'd miss its mark. Her fingers constricted around his wrist as the stake was merely centimeters from her flesh. Increasing levels of pressure applied decreased blood flow. Thavan cried out, loosening his grip on the stake. It dropped to the floor when her wanton eyes latched onto his. The world stopped. Her presence and the pulse of his heart shut out all else.

"I did as you instructed! I aided you harlots! Let me go!" Writhing and crying in hysteria, he plead for mercy when there was none.

"First you try to kill me and now you offend me with those colorful words. Only now as you've realized your fate is sealed do you fall to your knees in supplication for mercy. Do not stop on my account. In fact, I insist your blood pressure rise. You can get that hemoglobin pumping for me sooner." Her words oozed in foul delight.

Hiseelia flung Thavan from her presence. Like that of a small child, he hurtled behind her. The vampire displayed inhuman strength to the puny mortal before her. His body flew across the room and tumbled onto the soft embrace of the waiting bed. His face mashed into the pillow. Thavan flipped over, reaching for a knife that would never leave its sheath.

Floating above him was that smiling figure defying the laws of gravity. There bodies were separated by a scant few inches and her hand encircled his. A tightened grip ensured that blade shall stay where it belongs.

Hiseelia's body eased down on top of his. The curtains around the canopy bed closed shut, trapping them within. The warm touch of his skin pressed against hers, warming her dead flesh. She took her victory in stride, Enjoying every moment of displeasure upon his face.

She felt the rapid beat of his heart and erratic pulse through his wrist to be irresistible. The pure terror etched into his mortified face made this experience all the more satisfying. Being so close ensured the smell of her perfume would saturate through his clothes, enchanting his clouded mind. Her scent was that of a young and vibrant female. Thavan knew better and that is what made it all the more horrifying that this corpse laying atop him had been dead for centuries.

Having not surrendered just yet, Thavan clawed at her chest, pressing with all of the strength buried inside. It was impossible to contain the inevitable. There presented no need to use her limbs as counterweights. Merely pressing her chest down against his fists presented the same outcome. Slow and methodical, millimeter by millimeter she descended for his throat, giving her hands ample opportunity to wander where they shouldn't. Dexterous fingers undid his belt, playfully tugging at his trousers.

Mass hysteria clouded his mind and world. Fight or flight diminished to the latter and his eyes begged what his voice lacked. Tears fell from puffy red cheeks, sliding down the crease of his skin and matting the pillows in his despair.

"You can take my dignity and the firmament upon which I stand but don't do this. Please don't kill me like this." The strain and crack of a broken voice revealed the nature in which how heavily this weighed on him.

She stalled, examining his tear-stained grey eyes like a child examines an insect. His hands beat into her chest. All was futile in her domain. What she wanted, she received.

"When she begged for clemency before you drove a stake into her chest, had you shown the faintest inkling of remorse?"

Thavan watched her ruby red lips move. They spelled doom to a man who was in denial. She had him cornered. Not only physically but mentally too. Him and her both knew what he'd say. Nothing.

"I thought not. It's better this way. Your punishment has come. You see, Thavan, I know of your many close encounters with death. She toyed with your captive mind and tortured you, sucking sweet hemoglobin from this bleeding vessel. Your life held firm on the precipice between life and death. She split the veins in your wrist and gorged. My sisters can be so sloppy. Had Elizabeth's vindictive nature not gotten the best of her, you'd never have this moment with me. Thavan, you're a sly creature who bid his time and when the chance presented itself you destroyed her and burned our family grounds to ash. You're fortunate that those witch hunters happened upon your bleeding and battered form. They were there for you but within these walls nobody can hear your pleas, not even Zenara."

Her voice quivered in satisfaction as she resumed her descent to the utter dismay of Thavan. He had met his match. Not even the forces of darkness clung to him in his hour of need. Every path before him ended with a gravestone.

She ripped at his boots, pants and undergarments, flinging them to the floor. From the waist down he was completely exposed. Hiseelia tugged at the zipper of her dress just below the back of her neck. Bare, pale flesh lay exposed in the dim light of the room as the dress opened before him. The useless garment served no purpose for her any longer as she tossed it from them and out of the bed. Cold, white breasts popped from their prison. Short pink nubs hardened under the cool room. They mashed against Thavan's chest as she continually pressed closer to the prize pulsing beneath his neck. Fangs bared and saliva stretched between the roof of her mouth and bottom rows of teeth.

Desperation turned to verbal violence. What could not be performed through actions was spoken through a spiteful tongue. "God damn you to hell! I curse your bloodline and all that you stand for!"

His voice quaked on hysterics and rage. The audible babble and shrieking echoing from his lungs grated like claws dragging on a board. This outburst only served her further as it naturally got his blood pumping and slithering beneath that white flesh for her pleasure.

When her lips were within a hairs breadth of his neck, her hands tore at his coat. In one jerk, the buttons snapped loose, leaving his black undershirt visible.

The cold, predatory nature of her domineering presence diminished his will to resist when cold breath tingled the hairs on his skin. Every moment within his life faded as those ruby red lips latched onto his flesh. He gasped, feeling those blade-like fangs tracing along the nape of his neck for the prized artery below. No pity or remorse came about as she plunged her fangs deep beneath his tender flesh. Her mouth exploded with the sweet crimson warmth of his lifeblood. The horrific pain that followed clenched Thavan so tightly he lost his breath.

 _Within this realm you are my pet. The tearing of flesh and the feeling of loss will become one. Embedded deep within your skin, I will take that which makes you, you. You wish it would end and I have only just begun. If you but beg for my mercy, I may grant respite for thee. Beg to your queen, beg to your goddess._

Her words spoke to him within the deepest recesses of his subconscious. All he could hear was her mind taking control and the chance of ending this. All the while her mouth filled with his life-force. He felt the muscles contract and pull the fluids down and into her throat.

This weakness and vulnerability tore at him. The chance to make the pain fade away offered little sweet kisses to his aching mind. A way out of this nightmare was all he wanted now. His past years of torture and pain by all manner of monsters he has faced, paled before this creature that knew how to tick all of his boxes.

He felt his flesh shredding to the razor sharp teeth and the loss of blood. Every droplet lost cooled his trembling form. More and more fluids pooled into her mouth. He felt every second of torture as she robbed his mind of his own thoughts.

In this moment he cried out for it to end. "Please! Make it go away! Make this pain go away!" His tear-filled face hyperventilated as he believed she'd stop and he learned his lesson. If only he knew.

Hiseelia moaned in his ear to the taste of his exquisite blood and the crying pleas of a witch hunter submitting to her as a loyal thrall.

 _Try harder._ She insisted.

"Within your grasp my life and essence are yours to play with. I was wrong, I'm sorry. Please...please just let it end. I am a pawn and in this realm you are god. I submit to your majesty...please."

 _Goooooodddddd Booooyyyyyyy._ She moaned within his very mind, tapping into his brain and touching his subconscious. The reverberations shook his reality as increasing levels of pent up sexual frustration mixed with fear intermingling into one volatile concoction.

The intensity and pain revolving around his neck and the loss of warmth made his head spin and rationale collapse. A soft and pleasant numbness started from where her fangs did the most damage and slowly spread throughout his core like a poison taking over every inch of his being. The slurping of her lips and tongue on his wound contaminated his mind. A rippling effect pulsed from the wound spreading through his body in waves of unbound pleasure. What was once the cries of help and pain altered to deep, throaty moans. His eyes glazed over and the tears dried up.

This intensity washed over him every moment she supped from his neck. The pleasure rose to levels that grew nigh impossible to manage. Every touch and motion of her flesh against his found him crying out in this pleasure hell that eclipsed even intercourse. For a virgin like him, untainted nor sullied by the pleasures of the flesh, Thavan surrendered to the maddening lust she offered. Trapped inside this unending sexual torture, Thavan lost his mind to her.

His eyes turned glossy beneath the candlelight. Thavan's hands fell to their side against the blankets. Resistance was but a faded memory now. She sipped the warm fluids from his neck and moaned a feminine groan that spurred blood to Thavan's nether regions. His manhood hardened, pressing against her black lace panties stained wet with unbridled dominance at the thought of raping him of his purity. To make this victory one to savor it was he who now craved this.

Hiseelia pulled Thavan up while remaining latched to his neck. She straddled him and ground her dripping cunt along the length of his shaft. Juices stained his manhood. Within her ear she discerned the grunting approval of a man lost to what only her kind offered.

Sitting atop of him she placed either leg on his sides and tugged at his torn coat. He aided her in removing the useless garment. The last piece of clothing separating true skin on skin contact was his black shirt. Begrudgingly, she removed herself from the left side of his throat. Two pinpricks trailed a thin line of crimson fluids down his neck. A product of their unholy connection. Thavan obediently raised his arms. Hiseelia tugged at the offender and removed it from her presence.

Her eyes grazed over his tortured and scarred flesh. Images of whips studded with glass and blades poised to cut the upper layers of flesh flashed across her mind. Thavan had suffered more than most and survived all that was thrown at him. These scars turned her on further.

Hiseelia slipped two fingers under her panties and slid them downward. She arched her back and raised her legs over him to pull them down below her thigh high stockings. Her large and pendulous breasts were perky for their size. In fact, they were practically perfect. Thavan watched as they moved and jiggled to her motions. Those pink nipples toyed with him. Hiseelia kicked back as the pair of panties got snagged at the end of her foot. The second attempt sent them flying through the air and landing on a chair. Clothing and the barrier they presented had all but dissipated. Hiseelia pressed her bountiful breasts against Thavan's chest, forcing him to lie back and down on the pillows once more.

With her cunt exposed, she flaunted her sex organ, spreading it open with two fingers. Not one pubic hair was seen as her lips parted and fem-cum snaked down, staining the base of his shaft in her liquid delight. The small nub of her clit shined through the hood of the clitoris. A stark contrast of pale flesh surrounding a healthy sheen of pink highlighted her sex. Muscles clenched and squeezed sucking in air and echoing an unflattering noise. The view she bestowed him revealed that pinkish quivering hole oozing soppy clear fluids, aching to swallow him up.

Her small hand encircled around his blood engorged cock. Within her hand it pulsed with a violent need to do as nature intended. Hiseelia smiled devilishly. Lips parted and her tongue lapped at the drying blood that escaped her hungry maw. This was her moment. He was ready. There'd be no feasting – not for this moment when she soiled his purity.

A firm grasp kept his shaft at full mast. She leaned upward, hovering over him. Thavan's mouth parted. Biting the lower part of his lip his lidded eyes spoke to the effect and sway she held over him. The lost of that mind numbing pleasure and the separation raped at his subconscious. Used and discarded is the feeling he felt. This emptiness harmed his mind. He needed her to feed again. This, of course, was a stark contrast from the excessively resistant attitude he had only minutes ago.

Wide breeding hips pressed down. No protection was used. Skin on skin and flesh against flesh melded together as one. Each delicate fold of that enchanting slit parted and accepted his manhood through the deepest depths of her moist divide. The slithering soppy juices and constricting warmth of her tight love hole stole Thavan's breath. Hands clenched at her hips, guiding her down for that inhuman pleasure he desired above all else. The grey coloration of his eyes fled from his sight as each orb rolled into the darkest depths of his skull. The soft appendage that was his tongue lolled out from his mouth and hung below his lips as she pressed down until her cunny rooted at the base and his full girth had penetrated her depths. Only now could she feel the fullness of his organ as she sat hilt deep over him. The head of his dick kissed her cervix as it hung low, waiting for the offering it'd bestow.

His defenseless form and the girth of his manhood widening her sex lit a hunger inside of her that knew no bounds. This level of satisfaction and control she exhibited over him sent the vampire over the edge. Hiseelia resumed her feeding in haste. Her body pressed against him and mouth parted. In the glow of candlelight bloodstained fangs glistened before they inserted into his delicate and tender flesh once more. Thavan screamed in maddening pleasure. He fought the urge to explode inside of her right then and there. She felt his aura fade whilst he gave his all to her and she lapped at it just like his blood.

Together they moaned and cried a symphony of unending need. The pleasure of feeding, being fed on and the union of their sex was the most powerful mind fuck he had ever experienced. The messy slurping and the slippery sliding of their genitals was a sensory overload binding him to the pleasure only a vampire may grant. And, judging by that demeaning expression on his face, there would never be a release as great as this.

In short, violent gyrations, she pivoted up and down on his shaft in short and rapid thrusts. Hiseelia's hand ran through Thavan's hair and gripped his face tight, holding him as close to her as she could. Her other hand entwined betwixt his fingers, pulling them up and into her bountiful breasts. In his blind lust his fingers squeezed her mound, fondling the nipple between his digits. Lost in this pleasure euphoria, there was no escape.

Hiseelia's cunt squeezed and clenched upon him, emitting a vulgar resonating tune of a wet and watery nature. The sounds, scent, and feelings waxed over the two and for a moment one might think they were making love. This scenery was truly one sided.

Within his chest, his heart pounded a thousand beats per minute to the rapid decline in blood. Slowly but surely his skin displayed a growing and unhealthy pallor. Every mouthful of hemoglobin swallowed, she felt his life fade in her arms. In truth, she had no intentions of harming the witch hunter.

Her mouth daintily pulled from his oh so delectable neck. Hiseelia hovered over him while blood trickled from her mouth. Down her chin it ran and dripped upon her breasts. As his scepter lay buried within her pulsating tunnel, she moaned a deep and hoarse growl. It had been far too long since she had tasted the pleasure of sex.

The feeling of his sword swelling within warned her he was at his limit. Good! She'd milk his baby makers for all their worth until every sperm had flooded her womb. But she'd cum first. She was so close. God it was coming and that burning desire to satiate the fire inside her womb drew nigh.

Those blood red killers gazed down upon him with a sense of pride in what this human has accomplished for her sake. Initially, she was wracked with trauma and rage at the thought her sister and their heritage snuffed forevermore. By murdering her sister, the seat of succession sat firmly on Hiseelia's shoulders. Had only she known. Without Thavan, there's no telling where her fate may lie.

Lost in the throes of pleasure, Hiseelia sat forward and readied to finish the two of them in one creamy finale. That is, until she felt something within her very chest...pulse. Thump. Thump. Thump. That can't be true, can it? The beat of a dead heart funneled life through a corpse. And in turn, recirculating arteries with the pulse of blood. A vile and evil grin eclipsed her fang filled smile coated in his blood. The reality of this revelation dawned on her when she threw her head back. Black hair messily drooped over her right eye while the left remained visible. It lowered and watched him with a crimson glow.

Her fingers gripped Thavan's and pressed them against her left breast. The unmistakable beat of a living heart pulsed through skin, circulating life through her core.

"You've done it!" She nearly squealed.

"Neferata tasted the salvation to our species. I am immortality incarnate. Born of the powers of my species and all the benefits of your humanity. Neither the sun nor your holy relics can harm the daughters of the Lahmian Sisterhood any longer. A great cleansing shall come for these lesser clans and we shall assume the mantle of the one and only species destined to rule over your kind. By your aid, we have you to thank." She purred suggestively, rising her hips and pushing down.

His genitals swelled as he felt inhuman satisfaction that she was happy. Her slit squirmed on his organ, drooling out a slippery mess of fluids, pulling him in deeper and deeper. Tasting, sucking and clenching for every drop of semen destined to spray her insides white.

Thavan only returned an acknowledgment with a goofy smile. The restraint she had shattered as he turned his head, granting her mouth an audience to his bleeding neck. It was hers to feed. Such a good boy!

Her tongue lapped at his neck, savoring the fluids of his life. He tensed to the feeling of closeness he yearned for. Warm and sticky was the flesh she licked. A salty flavor permeated throughout. Thavan quivered beneath this goddess that held the keys to his life within her hands. Deep, far beneath his subconscious, he screamed. Trapped within, and under her care, he'd do as she wanted.

Even as he grew weaker to the loss of blood, her light and airy body presented no challenge to his weakening form. Hiseelia plunged her fangs inside the twin markings on his flesh. The small and gentle sips she had taken preserved this moment longer and longer till she lost control, driving her cunt like a stake on his sex relentlessly. The smell of their body fluids aroused his senses.

Her hands gripped his hairy chest whilst she impaled herself in short and rapid thrusts that altered into deep and long drawn out grinding motions. The parallels between the two kept them both at the edge of their high. Through the sucking of his blood Hiseelia rose an octave or two as her voice quivered and body shuddered. Deep, womanly moans echoed through his mind. A siren's call granting endless pleasure in exchange for his life.

Hiseelia sucked violently as logic and reason flung to the wayside. _Cum for me! Cum! Cum! Cum! Sow your seed within this fertile womb! Sire a species you loathe! Do it! Do it! Breed me!_

Hiseelia moaned a high pitch wail, creaming herself. Her pussy plunged down to the base of his shaft. Thick syrupy feminine cum drooled between her lips and down his shaft. The squeezing, sucking motions were to much for the virgin witch hunter.

He cried out to her command and gladly obeyed. His genitals pulsed within her warm haven as the head enlarged and sprayed a bounty of white cream through her cervix. Thavan's meager offering was accepted. Her pussy worked overtime to pull out every drop of sperm through his urethra and into her womb.

She gripped Thavan's hand and squeezed, pulling herself from his neck and watching every lewd expression on his face. The feeling of him finishing inside her as those warm jets of semen flooded her womb ignited a feeling within her. She was a woman again who could carry a child to term. Her hand reached down over her womb. She moaned, licking the blood from her mouth. Another spurt pulsed through his head, sucked up by her cervix. Through the canal it went, sullying her insides to the brim with his milky release. Every drop sent hundreds of thousands of sperm on a path to fuck her egg and make her belly swell with a child. The very thought sent her mind into a dreamlike state.

A buildup of fluids from their union snaked down her walls and his shaft until the deluge of white, foamy liquids, made a rather unpleasant belch as they splattered onto his groan. Thavan moaned in the afterglow of their endeavors. The last droplets were greedily constricted out and sucked up by her greedy cervix, only to be pulled into her bulging womb filled with millions of swimmers in search of an egg to fertilize.

Thavan's short wheezing gasps propped her back to reality. Looking down at his pitiful countenance, she acknowledged if only within her head, that she may have overindulged on her pet. One may see an encounter that almost ended in death. For this sly minx, leverage was granted and leverage would be abused.

A smile that once bore witness to her unraveling control and domination altered to that of one who intended to woo him over. The eyebrows lowered and lips peeled backward showing every tooth in that mocking sneer. "Tell me, Thavan, to what end of this world would you drag yourself through to see The End Times altered? Would you do anything to stop the forces of chaos?"

Through lidded eyes he breathed strained gasps. A lone fingernail coated in black polish slid across the nape of her neck. A small superficial wound split open. Tiny droplets of red blood trickled down. A stark contrast from the dead, black blood stored in pockets of dead vampires.

"You're weak and tired. I can offer the nourishment you thirst. Look at that sweet, crimson fluid my child. Come to me. Drink from me. Taste my essence and your powers will bolster. You shall become the bane of the forces of chaos. They will fear you and the very utterance of your name. You utilize their magic already so what difference does it make? By feeding from me you will channel the strengths of my kind into the Vanamar legacy." She smiled reassuringly.

Thavan watched the motion of her lips to the flowing of blood. Everything seemed to grow so...quiet.

"No longer are we the corpses you abhor. The strength of immortality and the benefits of the mortal realm meld as one. Don't you think you deserve the fruit of your labor? Bite into me, bleed me and taste...eternity."

Thavan eyed her bleeding neck. The voice grew cold and distant. Like the trailing wind breezing along the edge of white cliffs along the ocean. The growing hunger within shut out reason. Lapping at his lips he yearned to sate this rising and burning hunger ripping his stomach from within.

Would he truly shed who he was for a moment lost in time and break the promise he made? Would he willingly absolve himself of his humanity, of that which he strove so violently to uphold? The smell of blood changed him and his eyes capped over. The burning, insatiable thirst within gnawed at the darkest recesses of his mind.

With the post coital pleasure fading along with the feeding dying beneath his growing fatigued form, the desire to sate this thirst heightened. She lowered her neck, granting him easy access to taste the warm crimson tide. Thavan cried out. His body lay defiled and devoured from the ravenous hunger of this vampire. And now, she may rape him of his humanity.

Her cool and collected personality smothered him. "Do what your body says. Taste immortality. Taste perfection."

His hungry maw opened wide, aching to latch onto her neck and suckle that undeniably sweet and delicious wine of the vein. His subconscious plead beneath silent walls. _Consider your ways..._ It begged.

The darkness faded for this moment and the foggy cloud over his mind parted. At that instant, he spoke, "You've had your fill of me. Please...let me go 'fore I travel a path there is no return."

A sense of dissatisfaction and unease washed over her when he faltered on her offer of blood. He'd have made a great ally under her bloodline. And when she allows him to return to his people, she knew the next time they may cross paths might end with a stray bullet severing her spine.

# # # #

(Thavan Vanamar / Location – The Silver Pinnacle / – Time – (10/15/19)

"Thavan!" Zenara cried my name at the sight of my awkward gait and stumbling form.

My weak and tired body worried her greatly. It probably didn't help I looked like a ghost with this ghastly pallor. The lack of hemoglobin and bloodshot eyes made my appearance like that of a freshly sired vampire. I just wanted the sweet embrace of sleep to carry me on forever. Is that what dying feels like?

It was only a matter of time when I'd lose my balance. These damn boulders for legs weren't functioning. Down the stairwell I was doomed to fall. And there she was to break said fall. The soft warmth of her white fur tickled my face. I inhaled a deep breath, smelling her clean scent. My face nuzzled into Zenara as she held me in her arms.

A tinge of anger coated her words when she spoke, "Why? Why would you do this to him?"

Hiseelia refrained from explaining her actions. She only smiled down at us. I could see those venomous eyes one final time before my mind traveled between this world and the pleasant warmth of dreams. It all became a blur. How she managed to get us back is beyond me.

"Don't worry, Thavan. I won't abandon you." Her tender voice called to me. I stirred, squeezing tufts of fur in my strained grasp.

Within her gentle arms she laid me down onto a bed. When my eyes opened, the familiar metallic interior of the Death Treader was there to greet me. Hovering over my exhausted frame was Zenara. She placed a blood pack and clear fluids on a cart and attached an IV to both. "Thavan, I must remove your coat."

I nodded softly.

She helped by placing her hand underneath my back. Three, two, one and up we go. With her assistance I was able to sit upright. Her hands did all the work until I laid in my damaged undershirt from Hiseelia's doing.

Soon, the prickly feeling of two IV's pierced my vein. Blood and fluids trickled within, filling the void she left behind. The sickness, the nausea and cramps were too great. A wave of dry heaving and the clenching of my stomach forced me to roll over and expel droplets of water from my throat. There was no sustenance within my system. Those precious fluids I gagged and choked upon were the difference between life and death.

I shivered and convulsed. The loss of blood denied me warmth and left my body susceptible to the elements, or lack thereof in this sterile vessel.

"Thavan, dear, hey look at me."

I did as she asked. Although, a task as simple as this was nearly impossible it felt. Her horns glistened in the twinkling glow of the lights within the room. That soft white furred face examined me with a level of tenderness I wanted to cling to forever.

"You need warmth – skin to skin contact. I know what you suffered weighs heavy on you but I need to generate heat lest I fear you may pass beyond. May I proceed?"

"Yes. Just don't leave me. I'm so cold."

"I'm not going anywhere." She insisted.

Beneath the warmth of blankets I laid within her arms barely clothed. Her gentle and truly loving embrace enraptured my frigid soul and warmed this fragile body. Inside her arms I felt so vulnerable but safe and secure. I never wanted to leave. My head laid on her chest. The beat of her heart lulled me to contented happiness.

Drowsy eyes stared up and at her features while she smiled down at me. The love in her heart glowed from her mannerisms and tender features. Is this what love felt like? The tingling sensation spreading throughout my body and the feeling within told me yes. If this is true, I never wanted it to end.

Her hand found mine. Intertwined as one, she made that nightmare fade. My face moved closer to hers. Lost in the sight of her blue eyes, I became enthralled, watching her every move. Before long, my energy had faltered and my head landed on her breasts. Cuddled in her arms and nestled between blankets and fur, she hummed a soft tune. Sleep called to me and within her grasp, I lowered my guard and accepted her offer of care. The world grew distant but beside her, I found peace.

* * *

 **Well, it has been a month and a half but I am not dead. I trust you all have been doing fine, I hope. I have been getting slammed with overtime at my job and that has left me with very little time to come home while typing and proofreading. Understand I would love to get this stuff out sooner but they have been beating the brakes off of me.**

 **To LeavingATrailOfDestruction - Keep up the great work and spread the gospel of the rat women across the known world. Only by people like you can we hope to have rat waifu's in the future.**

 **In other news, I realize Thavan got ahegao'd by this vampire. She fucks him harder than the government fucks me of my paychecks :D**

 **I hope the chapter was worth the wait. This was my third sex scene I have ever written. I am pleased with the way it turned out. Speaking of sex, I was considering writing a very short story with a human and an encounter with a daedra seducer from Daggerfall. (I have been playing a lot of Daggerfall Unity lately) If you are interested, let me know if this intrigues you. If I upload and it does well, I may start writing short stories and encounters with monster girls in Daggerfall. That is all for this tired author. I am headed to a land of dreams.**


	12. Chapter 11

Of Atonement and Salvation: The End Times

Chapter 11

Forsakened Son To A Silent God

Written by S. J. Kandil

It was a chilly and cloudy morning. Trees swayed lazily against a gust of wind, stripping them of their red and yellow leaves. The noise of the forest, or lack thereof spoke to the townspeople. Winter was coming.

Darrik Goddennine sat deep in contemplation outside the rear entry of the Temple of Sigmar straddling his hometown of Stäntrhein. Clasped within his left hand was a mug of scalding, extra black coffee. Around the rim, steam rose in a steady stream toward his face. The gentle aroma of fresh coffee grounds and the subtle hint of vanilla and cream sparked his thirst. The strong flavor greeted him in waves. Each sip was taken with care. The result ensured he wouldn't burn his taste-buds away. Darrik always found a way to boil the fluids longer than necessary. Though this hadn't denied him this simple pleasure. He savored the scent as a long and drawn out swig brought forth the full flavor.

More leaves ripped from their branches and swayed down to the forest floor. Swirling toward the sidewalk, they intertwined into mini tornadoes. The changing seasons and the tender cool embrace after a blistering summer was a nice reprieve for him and his fellow men.

Darrik swallowed down another gulp as the image of a large stack of paperwork waited for him. And, while this weather entertained him, his career mattered more.

"Duty calls." He murmured.

Darrik rose on old, rickety legs. The chair was left behind as he returned to the cathedral. In a matter of minutes he arrived at the office with that limping gait serving nothing more than being an unwanted nuisance. That insufferable battle scar forever damned him to this post.

Darrik struck a match in the dark and utterly silent room. His hand pressed over a candle and lit the small source of warmth. The glow coruscated a shimmering beam around the desk. The claws of darkness encroached from all corners. It was just enough to make out his surroundings. He pulled his jacket and placed it on the nearby coat-rack.

Darrik's hands reached for another match when a voice spoke through the darkness. "Why don't you have a seat, Goddennine?"

From the inky blackness beyond the reach of light appeared a hand brandishing a pistol. The figure pushed forward in its chair until the outline of a specter from Darrik's past appeared before him.

The mortified face of Goddennine said not one word when the figure smiled. "It appears you have seen a ghost." Stated none other than Thavan Vanamar.

# # # #

Several days prior...

(Thavan Vanamar / Location – Grozen Workshop / – Time – (11/4/19)

"1 2 3...1 2 3...4 6 1...2 3 4. Dammit, there's no pattern. How am I to achieve the impossible?"

My ticket out of here waited out in the open but just happened to be beyond my reach. The death treader was the key. This leave of absence was never meant to be a permanent one. Although, I must ask myself, what will they do should I return? No, this is how it must be. How was I to explain to them I had taken matters into my own hands?

The mystery surrounding my birth unravels now. The outcome, whether good, or bad, will absolve my thoughts of this gloomy menace looming over me. Only then might I have a clear understanding. Only then might I find solace. From there I may go unto The End Times with a foundation on which to stand.

Casting aside reason and sanity proved easier when tasked to one's mind. My heart raced when I moved beyond the point of no return and sprinted from cover for the vehicle. The guards spotted me whilst I reached for the side hatch. Damn it all to hell.

I flung the hatch wide open whilst they demanded I halt. A lone human in an empire full of skaven practically ensured I stood out no matter where I may go. To conceal ones identity proved a near impossible feat. This was my one and only chance.

Looking back I watched as they rushed for me. Their warnings and demands to cease and desist grew so silent. In moments I scaled the ladder and dove within. A balled fist from yours truly slammed upon the button release, sending the hatch up and home.

Thirty seconds is the maximum time I had before they'd swarm. A promise was made not only to myself but for them too. I cannot carry on like this. I am a detriment to Grozen and all who rely on me in the coming battles. It was at this moment in time do I see they may occupy the space between myself and the answers I sought. I cannot harm my fellow skavem in the process of my return from whence I came. No killing shall be allowed in this reckless decision orchestrated by myself. That was the choice I made and I'd stand by it, even if that meant surrender.

Acting in haste was my only chance. I rushed for the controls. A hundred times over the events before me played out within my head. Every switch and nob pressed or pulled was all there on repeat, waiting for me to act on this knowledge. I followed suit just like all the times before, activating all that I needed to bring this mechanical deathtrap to life.

The engine grumbled a tired sigh, awakening to my demands. My hands shifted from the stationary gear release to the forward position. I fell down within the cockpit whilst my shaking fingers nearly cost me as they twitched and shook on the controls. Damn nerves. The unease and tension subsided when the vehicle pressed onward to the grinding sound of its treads.

The guards piled along the sides, clanging their swords against the metal and making a proclamation to stop or else. It was too late. When I ploughed through the gate separating the workshop from the city, startled citizens scurried toward cover. My destination lay just behind my reach. The main gates leading into the outside world was my only shot at escape. And at this very moment in time the main gates shepherding those denizens of the city out and onto the surface happened to be open during the changing of the guard. One wrong slip and this'll all come crashing down.

The treads and wheels kicked up mud and rocks as I rounded the corner a tad faster than I should have. The outside gate spread open and ready for my departure. I floored it and maxed out every dial and pedal as this vehicle gave everything it had for this moment.

Through the comms feedback rumbled artificial voices of those commandeering the controls. The gate was to be shut immediately. Their turrets were the deal-breaker here. Should they be so inclined they could fire upon me, or blow out one of my wheels. There were no contingency plans in place should my path lead there.

To my fortune, they had not attacked. The gate grew closer and closer. And so too, had the gate made its slow but steady return to its base. Soon, I'd be trapped. That, or this machine would be caught in between and crushed. I'd be so inclined to choose the former. All of the planning and days spent behind cover watching their every move flashed on by and so did the gate. Well, it had, the rear treads clipped the gate as it closed shut but I had passed the point and home free. Sorta. The vehicle spun out of control as I fought tooth and claw to steady the thing before I rammed into a wall of rock and faced immediate death.

The gate had reversed course when I pressed beyond the threshold. This time it was opening. I flicked a switch and drowned it out once the diggers activated and I burrowed through the core. Were there any other way surely I would have gone through the underground directly within the capital of Grozen. Passing through the main gate was increasingly risky. Alas, this was the only route Varron had shown me on how to depart for the Empire of Man. I believe he took such precautions to keep me from returning to my homeland. How right he was.

Cold sweats chilled my figure and my hands slowly but surely relaxed. I did it...now what? Begrudgingly I did what no sane man would choose. No, a God fearing man such as myself would do. I beckoned for _her_.

"Serisseeiana, Daughter in Black, I, Thavan Vanamar, call to thee. Reveal yourself." The strength behind my voice was born of desperation. She was all I had left.

The warpstone powered lights above me fluttered between life and darkness. Black clouds seeped through the ventilation shafts. Above and below all around me it swarmed and blotted out the areas around me.

In my peripheral I bore witness to a silhouette of a figure beside me. My skin crawled when I knew it was her standing over me. Those piercing daemonic purple eyes never wavered. The twisted, winding grin of her unholy maw forced me to pause on the controls. Beneath these layers of skin and blood my mind squirmed. She had me where she wanted all along, and I caved to her offer. I surrendered to this proposal. Sigmar please guide me – or do you even care anymore?

"You know why you are here, do you not?"

"I do." A definite response came from that domineering personality.

"And you are also acquainted with the foresight in where my answers reside?"

"But of course, your place of origin: Stäntrhein."

# # # #

All signs pointed to one that was visually agitated. That is, Zenara of course. She scaled the stares with a noticeable scowl marring her features. In moments her hands would come crashing down on the door to Grodmoor's personal quarters. Be it shock or surprise, her characteristic scowl halted when it was he who exited in sleepwear before her beating might ensue. Had the Grozen champion expected her?

"Before you wake half of this empire, come."

This assisted in nothing but inflaming her rage further. The festering, seething anger bubbled at the surface and Grodmoor knew it best to settle her down before he became a blood splatter on the wall.

Down the long and narrow corridors of stone they strode till Grodmoor led her within a private study with walls thick enough to conceal the loudest of unbridled fury. A fireplace sparkled light, offering warmth and comfort.

With the door firmly closed, Grodmoor turned to face her. "What seems to be the matter, Zenara?"

"Don't play coy! Thavan is gone!" She hissed.

"Where were your guards? You've seen firsthand the instability he harbors! Why? Why? Why?"

She paused and pondered on the meaning of this. Then her uncertainty revealed understanding. "Oh...you allowed him to escape, didn't you? Answer the question you alcohol bastard!"

Grodmoor raised his eyebrows to her poignant depiction of the Grozen Lord. "I may have granted Thavan the leeway necessary to resolve his own personal conflicts. A man like that will soon become a hindrance less he nips what is eating at him from the source."

Zenara scoffed and spat a glob of phlegm from her maw. "And this means he will only position himself deeper into the web of chaos. This is what they want! Thavan is my charge. Had you sensed the mental turmoil engulfing him, you would not have allowed him to slip from stability. We are a driving force in his life. He needs us. Do you know of his whereabouts?"

Grodmoor flipped the question around by pointing the topic at her, "He needs us, or you need him?"

A question he posed and silence she returned. She glared at her fellow skaven. Before him it felt that perhaps the chaos wastes manifested through her anger?

Grod persisted. "Thavan's psyche is a delicate subject in and of itself. The winding paths he follows spirals into multiple interlocking webs. This is dangerous. In order to win this war he must have a clear conscience. It is the only way. He will..."  
"Where! Did! He! Go!" She screamed hellfire and brimstone. Bolts of magic traveled down her spine and spiraled her robes out of control.

Grodmoor was neither worried nor interested in her display of intimidation. "Where else Zenara? To his point of origin of course."

And with that, she cracked the staff into the floor. A tear within the fabric of reality split and a portal opened before his eyes. The Bluish white light pierced through the cracks as she pressed through into some unspecified location. Before his eyes she dissipated. Although, it didn't take a genius to ponder on her whereabouts.

Grodmoor stood there in silence. His hand lazily scratched at his chin. "I need a drink." He spoke aloud to not a single individual in particular.

Zenara's words hit pretty close to home and he wasn't gonna live down her expectations of him. No sir.

# # # #

(Thavan Vanamar / Location – Stäntrhein Cathedral / – Time – (11/12/19)

"You're alive!" The excitement and joy in his eyes and face led credence to the possibility he had no part in sending me to my death. Who's to say it all wasn't a ruse? How often does one see a revenant from their past life return?

"I am. No thanks to you or the rest of this town for that matter." The disdain in my words reserved a level of hate I hadn't thought possible.

Was this her influence? I cannot say.

"Thavan..." He paused whilst depositing paperwork on his desk. "Had I known you were alive do you believe me to be a man of inaction? Would I so carelessly leave you behind? That day you left, I witnessed something within you I had not seen before. Had I only stopped you, none of this would have ever happened. The day you disappeared spurred me to action. I spent months searching for you in those desolate mines. When the powers that be learned of my intentions the mine was closed shut forever. We did everything we could under the circumstances. Evidence pointed toward the inner circle orchestrating this entire operation to undermine you. A joint effort demanded all of those who lost loved ones to usher in justice for all. We proved what was hidden in plain sight. The council was abolished and the members put to death for their crimes against humanity."

I knew it. This entire city has loathed me from the time I took my first steps down the halls of this cathedral that I once loved so dear.

"Why would you entertain such a thought? Thavan, I am with you. Now and unto the end of time. What has become of you? What is this that you wear? Those symbols and emblems are not the garb that our people adorn. And what is that scarf around your neck? Is that a musket within your hands or something else? Where have you gone? What has become of you?"

My hand instinctively touched the cloth shrouding the two pinpricks tainting my flesh with her taunting marks.

"Four years of torture has a way of eating a hole through you. Beaten and mocked, I was paraded as a trophy after a skaven clan devoured my compatriots. They exist and yet these stupid, arrogant humans fail to see the reality around them. Our world is dying. This temple of Sigmar where we so blindly worship has done just that – blinded us. The 'Great Four' are coming."

Against my better judgment, I tugged at the cloth and in turn lowered it whilst tilting my head for him to see. His eyes gazed across the two marks where fangs once sunk through flesh. Horror flashed across his face. Words were to be said but I stopped him and put his mind at ease.

"Relax, the need to stake me has passed. I am not one of them. It was my punishment. All you need to know is I am surviving. Now, you're going to explain to me the origin of my past that you've felt so inclined to sequester away. And if you don't, I will splatter your desk with the remnants of your skull."

Darrik's faced was masked by a wall of uncertainty. He took a deep gulp and sighed. His face aged considerably since the time I once called to him for guidance. What little color atop his head either grayed or turned white. So many stress marks and or wrinkles marred his face. It is I who should be the one asking him what has become of his life. Though, why should I care?

"Alright, Thavan. I will do as you ask."

# # # #

Off the coast of the Province of Ostland within the Empire of Man a voyage had commenced. To the north, nestled within the Sea of Claws was an island harboring a small settlement born of nefarious purposes. This zit upon the face of the world held little significance and yet why had the Cult of Sigmar placed a contract upon this landmass?

For Darrik Goddennine today was the day he'd prove himself to Sigmar and his homeland. The sons of Norsca have gone unchecked as they rape and pillage port-side towns. That ends today. The fight comes to them and their people. This opportunity to bleed them dry consoled the seasick human.

Coastline grew near as water lapped at the sandy shore. A one day voyage was more than enough to force Darrik to spew the contents of his stomach. Damn the water. The thought of another mission under his belt was nothing to fret about. But what waited beyond those icy waters would alter his life forevermore and he was none the wiser.

"Land ahead!" Bellowed an overzealous witch hunter aching to draw blood.

The men lowered the anchor as a much younger Darrik Goddennine placed his witch hunter cap atop his head. He said his prayers to his patron god and set off.

In a matter of minutes they disembarked from the ship and established a foothold on the island without drawing any unwanted attention. White sand gave way to patches of grass and that too surrendered to dull brown grass and large conifers and other needle bearing trees swarming the interior. The men were all on high alert. Brandishing swords and other weapons meant to kill, they formed small groups moving toward the center of the island. In times like these, Darrik was their unofficial point man.

Many within his circle held deep seated resentment toward the man they battled with. His unorthodox practices were shunned by the younger men within his regiment. There was a natural overbearing and zealous demeanor that many witch hunters carried over from their indoctrinated youth into adulthood. These extremes that set them apart from other conscripts were omitted from his views on life and those around him. Darrik was pragmatic on all facets of the world. Logic and reason carried him through his days rather than blind religious zeal and indoctrination. For some, such as his allies, they'd believe him to be an atheist. On the contrary, he was devout in his religious beliefs. Sigmar was his God.

Though his beliefs were as just as any other worshiper, it was those who hailed from his hometown that displayed a bizarre quality. Whereas all of the Empire practiced polytheism there seemed to be a heavy influence of monotheism and the devout worship of Sigmar and only Sigmar within Stäntrhein. Was this the product of some conflictting issue unresolved long ago or fanaticism? One may not find that answer.

The foundation on which Darrik built his religious beliefs were not within question. Many knew this and even more turned a blind eye upon the human. To the majority, he was a ghost and that is why it required him to prove himself above and beyond the call of duty to show those within command what he was capable of.

Perhaps leading this ragtag faction into the gauntlet of hell was necessary? Those who questioned him would see where his loyalty remained. And as a shrill horn blared in the distance, warning them their cover was blown, now was his chance. Into madness they'd descend.

Through the forest he sprinted with his fellow men in tow. The blur of swaying leaves and grass flashed through his eyes and the pulse of his heart quickened. Gradually, the natural foliage and coloration faded as they entered a wide clearing revealing the taint of chaos that clutches this island with its many tendrils.

Tents constructed of sun-baked human flesh stretched across the horizon. Some of these were marked by the tribes symbols bearing an uncanny similarity to the star of chaos. Beyond the many rows of tents were longhouses made of stone and thatched roofs.

Men adorned in armor or lack thereof rushed from their homes to do battle with the Empire forces who dare to step foot in their domain. Tattooed with markings of their tribes they screamed and barked orders in a foreign tongue.

An arrow surged past Darrik, barely missing his jugular. Through the throat of an empire soldier it struck in its violent destination. Pressing deep, it pierced the artery. A geyser of blood flashed through air, pattering into the ground like blood rain. Red water splashed the back of Darrik's neck while the faint gurgling of a fallen soldier behind him enforced his need to crush these chaos worshipers once and for all. In retaliation he fired his single handed musket at the closest foe. Blood for blood. The black powder ball pierced past the armor and ruptured his heart, killing the Northlander instantly.

Barricades in the form of wooden poles embedded in the ground demanded the Southlanders press through the maze of deadly spikes they had constructed. Specks of brown fecal matter tainted the tips. If the spikes had not killed you then infection surely would.

The first wave of warfare came in the tumultuous clatter and bang of firearms into the hordes of Norscans. Many fell and many more replaced them. This seemingly small and inconspicuous settlement sheltered far more than these homes might house. Had more come from the north? Was an invasion imminent?

Baseless speculation such as this held no quarter in Darrik's mind. Those conscripts behind him were pissing themselves. Fortunately for Darrik, there were a multitude of witch hunters within their ranks. If one felt it best to flee the coward shall be cut down and made an example of.

The first to cross paths with Darrik swung hastily at his target. Goddennine sidestepped the attempt to kill. His attack was messy and lacked discipline. A flick of his wrist slashed the sword across his foes belly. A steaming mass of pink entrails tore through the split orifice. His ax fell from his hands and he landed on his knees. The doomed barbarian clutched at his organs trying in vain to stuff them back inside their protective walls. Darrik slashed the blade across his neck, slicing the strands of flesh connecting the appendage to his body. The head flung from the connective tissue as arteries split and blood splattered from the corpse, coating Darrik's face in hemoglobin and igniting the hatred in his heart for a people who despised him merely for his will to live.

Darrik stomped his feet into the earth. He slashed his blade through the air, sending droplets of blood flying into the overcast sky by his cold steel. The man screamed unto the heavens challenging all of the forces of darkness to converge under him. It was a fine day to die.

Through tight choke-points he pressed on. Thankfully for him, his fellow soldiers discharged another deluge of leaden death. Northlanders collapsed atop their defenses, impaling themselves and smashing the weaker barricades. Darrik cleaved his way through the weaker ranks – cutting down foe after foe and leaving a trail of death and destruction behind him.

When ammunition dried up, more on his side joined him in the slaughter through the muddy and bloody battlefield. The path before them was accessible for the most part, yet as the distance to the village closed, the ground inclined into a hill. The path upward lacked no grass. It was a muddy and perilous path to traverse. One wrong step and his own men lost their footing only to be trampled by their allies.

Darrik found himself losing his balance more than once. Over the barrier of spikes a man brandishing two single handed axes leaped into the fray. His sense of modesty or lack thereof was evident given the minimal amount of rags covering his genitals. This mans deranged features were that of a wild dog come down with rabies. It was the ultimate fate of all those who worship the dark gods.

A whirlwind of unbridled rage and fury came down upon the young witch hunter. Every swing echoed his everlasting hate for those they deemed unworthy. Darrik met each attack by deflecting every hit imposed upon him. The sharp screech of metal on metal hissed defiantly against the other.

On both sides troops clashed on this hill for control. Halberds met swords and morning-stars bashed into shields shattering every bone in the defendants wrist. It was hell on earth and here in this small skirmish there were greater issues at stake.

The beserker emitted a swine-like squeal, conjuring a glob of warm sticky phlegm splattering the side of Darrik's cheek. Goddennine growled in defiance. His grip tightened and his eyes narrowed. A violent and bloody reprisal was all but guaranteed.

Goddennine broke his guard and the result ensured the northlander should lose his footing and lose it he would. Darrik's blade jutted down, pommel first and acted as support for the northlander to ease himself upon. The steel stuck through the rib-cage and harpooned his heart. Eyes dilated and the touch of death grasped his dying breath. Blood seeped through the gap in his lips and out of the hole in his chest. With enough force to chip bone, Darrik yanked the sword outward as the body rolled several feet down the mound and into a muddy pit where it'd come to rest with eyes wide open in a permanent death-mask.

Equal numbers on both sides fell into the thick of the slaughter. Technology stood by the witch hunters side while the sheer brutality and unorthodox fighting style of the men of the north meant this war could swing any which way.

Goddennine was the first to pass the top of the mound and reach level ground with the Norscan Village. Large effigies in the shape of their gods towered over the collective like an omniscient entity watching over their every move. There'd be no tolerance for weakness within their culture.

The hammer of judgment teetered back and forth. Neither side could gain a proper foothold over the other. With the Empire of Man literally fighting an uphill battle it was only a matter of time before they'd break.

Darrik having sensed such an outcome should they not break the northlanders hold knew time was of the essence. Inspiration driven by haste throttled the man into a suicidal diversion. For the good of his men! For the good of the Empire!

Between the chaos and mania he bolted past arching swings and arrows meant to dispatch the human. The line of troops faded behind him as he barreled for the nearest longhouse. The screams and grunts of these barbarian bastards kept him on his toes.

The burning sensation of muscles aching for relief found no respite. Darrik sprinted for his life toward the wooden door and stony walls to take refuge. It was his one and only chance. Prayers were all he had left. Arrows fired at him. They swished on by bouncing off the stony walls and only inches away from impaling his spine.

Gauntlets cracked into the wooden door, sending the frame careening open. Upon his heels he turned and flung it shut as a group of three had nearly closed the gap with violent intent. Darrik gripped a stone shelving unit and toppled it over. Precious minutes were bought and now he had a moments reprieve. But what might be in here?

Nothing of importance, that was a fact. Support beams in the form of stone pillars supported the roof. Along the walls a weird mud-like substance was smeared on all corners as straw and other heat retainers lay mashed against it. The one thing that drew his attention the most was the stone heath and oven. A fire burned down to embers and the smell of meat permeated through the air. Above the mantle painted in dried blood was the star of chaos.

As axes and swords cleaved at the door, Darrik's focus on the real world returned. He had to get out of here. If his diversion found no success, they'd all be dead. And Darrik wasn't quite ready for that.

A hall on his left flank led to a number of unspecified rooms and maybe a way out? Down the long corridor he roamed with blade in hand. His eyes peered through the cracked doors only to discern no sign of life. A noise further down the hall caught his attention. A lone door before him was closed shut. No visible sign cautioned the lone human but behind it there sounded an oft putting metallic hiss. The way it creaked and groaned left the witch hunter on high alert.

Darrik pivoted his head from left to right. The distance closed and he edged upon the frame. The warmth and wetness of sweat and grime dirtied his hands and in turn worsened his grip beneath the leather gloves.

His hand silently reached for the wooden handle of the door. Each digit worked independently of one another. Trembling, the middle finger was only a centimeter from touching the handle when the frame split in two before his very eyes. Darrik recoiled and shook. The sight before him nearly brought about the departure of his soul from his body.

An ax with a width greater than his torso divided the barrier between himself and what kept him from pressing on. He readied for the foe before him as he assumed a combat stance. Darrik never feared his opposition and never cowered in the face of adversity. And then he saw this big bastard and that tune would change.

A black gauntlet punched half of the door in. It flew like a child's toy, nearly smashing Darrik in the process. He jumped back, watching as splinters and debris flew about. The other side collapsed outward and smashed into the floor.

Standing nearly 7 feet tall, this mountain of muscle and steel dwarfed the witch hunter by comparison. He was an apex predator in every sense of the word. Between the chaos lords gauntlets he held firm the double sided ax that rend the door in two. Each end of the ax was covered in stained blood and chipped by countless battles. Behind the spiked great helm, a pair of dead and blackened eyes regarded his enemy with hostile intent. A grand breastplate covered his chest. Embossed upon the armor was the star of chaos protruding out from the center. Large, skull-crushing boots stomped forward with daemonic skulls carved into the toecaps.

Each step taken shook the ground in which this burly abomination walked. "Southlander!" He spat.

"Before me there is a man – a being who cannot begin to honor that title. You, a son of Sigmar will fall like your god here and now. All of thee that departed the safety of the mainland shall rest easy in knowing your deaths will be the catalyst to spawn a greater daemon. Ostland shall burn and your corpses will pave the way." Hoarse and gurgly was the nature of this foul and inhuman beings tone. Something so simple as their voices were corrupted by their masters.

After his spiel concluded the harbinger exhibited a burst of speed that was impossible for a normal human to hope to achieve. The constricting tightness of that daemonic shell presented powers some might believe impossible.

Judgment slammed down in the form of an ax head. Darrik stumbled backward and landed onto his ass. Between his legs it crashed. Were it any closer and Darrik might have received an unwanted castration. He breathed a sigh of relief. Though were any man in his shoes, they'd surely do the same.

The ground around him split apart. The champion of chaos tugged at the base, cracking debris and dirt through the divide. Darrik recoiled and rolled down the hall back to his starting destination. All around him the blurry sights and sounds intermixed through the insanity. The crackling crunch of his armor seemed to grow distant. His undivided attention focusing squarely on how to survive this onslaught.

Darrik kicked off the ground, rising on wobbly legs and struggling to steady himself, the witch hunter was in for a treat. The son of chaos stomped after him, blood-drunk and ready to put an end to this miserable excuse of life.

Behind Goddennine, ax's and swords broke through the door. The hastily erected barricade caved against their advances. Time fled the soon to be dead witch hunter. Although, Darrik had not given up.

Eyes watched for an opening. This search stemmed not from a means to kill, but to escape like the cornered rat he was. The Northlander raised two plated gauntlets with great ax in hand. Darrik feigned fear. He was beat. This was the end. Too bad for his enemy, his arrogance shall be his downfall. The ax moved with enough force to send gusts of wind with his swing. Darrik's death seemed all but certain. Or was it?

Diving backwards and toward the heath was his only option. In a split second the sword was sheathed and the champion closed the gap. This was it. Darrik reached back and gripped a cauldron bubbling with liquids and stewing meat. When the armored brute pressed for the kill, Darrik screamed, ripping the cauldron from its stand and dumping the boiling fluids through the gaps of his helm. His eyes and skin were consumed by the searing liquids. The Norscan roared a barrage of foul curses in his native tongue. The flesh singed and bubbled. In an instant, blisters formed over the scarred tissue and then popped against the jagged edges of his armor. A scent not uncommon to sea creatures washed up on the shore and bloated in decay permeated the room.

Black, putrid blood oozed from the gaps whilst staining the floor. Flesh puffed out and turned red. The pendulous skin sagged over his eyes, denying him his vision. The limited sight he had with that helmet on only diminished his view further. The Northlander turned to his seething rage for comfort. This was the key Darrik needed for escape. The big bastard drove his fist into the wall. The rock split into pieces and his hand tore through to the other side. Debris and dirt flew through the air, smacking the back of Darrik's head. This was his opportunity.

The cauldron fell to the wayside. As it clanged against the stony floor, Darrik's feet pattered against the ground. Had the chaos champion not screamed in fiery brimstone he might have discerned Darrik's departure.

Goddennine gripped the handle of a fire and forget musket and turned on his heels. That lumbering giant was out for blood but blinded in his desire for revenge. In all directions he hefted the ax and swung everywhere in hopes he might dispatch the man who'd already pressed on. Darrik aimed and fired.

Through the cracks of the helm the ball pressed on by, tearing past flesh and spilling blood as well. The round tore through until it embedded in his cheekbone. From his lungs a great and violent behemoth of a man manifested fury and wrath. A vociferous battle-cry ripped out of his airways as if he himself were a daemon.

Darrik tossed his musket in time for his adversary to discard his helm. The clinging rattle it sounded warned him. The bewildered human stay fixated on his handiwork. What little the black powder ball did to flesh and bone concerned him most. This monster was going to take more than that to be dispatched.

The small hole in his mouth bled a deep reddish black that oozed through the orifice and gritted teeth. Long, flowing locks of black hair and a thick black beard served only to heighten his grisly appearance.

Upon his heels he turned. Through the split door Darrik made haste. Into a great atrium he found himself with an open roof. Specks of snow begun their descent to the floor below. At the center of this grand circular arena was a scenery of blood and gore nightmares were born from.

Men and women and children were stripped of their dignity and met an end in heaps of gore, gutted and run through. Or the unlucky ones met their final hours by a slow death through impalement. Their motionless mouths hung agape as the pole stretched from their anus' and out their mouths. What horrors they witnessed before their deaths were forever marked upon their glossy dead eyes. Some lacked genitals as their bodies were mutilated beyond comprehension. Others were stripped of their flesh and muscle tissue. Husks of bone they were with drippings of tissue. The unending stench of spent bowels and putrefied meat hung through the air like a rotten sore staining clean oxygen in its foul release.

The mystery surrounding those families in Ostland came to one bloody conclusion. Men and women sheltered from the horrors of this world may lose their mind to this insanity. For Darrik this only served to ignite the fire within. By Sigmar as his judge, this bastard and his bloodline shall end now.

Into the pit of gore and death he descended. Waste deep in blood and grime, Darrik slogged through in hopes of slowing the advance of that brute. If only he had another dozen or so muskets to spare. This son of chaos should be flat on his back with a hole through his cranium. Should, though that move fruitless. Alas, something else must take the reigns to end this.

Solutions never come easy for witch hunters now do they? Improvise and adapt. It was what he was born for. Was he also born to dodge a swing from an ax whilst trudging through gore? Judging by the way he narrowly passed the blow intended for his throat, the answer appears to be yes. Well, maybe.

Darrik was a spry young man who trained daily. His lightning fast reflexes were the only saving grace that pulled him from a permanent shave. What he hadn't accounted for had been debris within the pool of blood. Balance was a thing of the past. Goddennine careened into a wall of organs and body parts, coating his brown leather tunic in the colors of this foul ritual and unfortunately inhaling a mouthful of the meat and skin.

All around them sparks and the swirling crack of wind stormed through the atrium and down into this abomination of a ritual. Darrik gagged on entrails. Unbeknownst to him another trial was about to reveal itself.

Down the ax came. Another body was soon to be added to this heinous crime against humanity. Darrik, sensing his end, burrowed deep within the wall of organs forming a protective cocoon against the slash. Popping out on the other side like a swollen abscess, Darrik choked further upon organs and blood. Gasping for oxygen and standing on wobbly legs, he rushed for the nearest cover. A large imposing spike was the closest protection he had. In a stroke of luck that seemed nigh impossible, the chaos champion lost sight of Goddennine.

Above Darrik a woman impaled and long dead received no relent from the pain for her eyes were gouged out whilst she still drew breath. Black holes with droplets of dried blood trickled down her cheeks and stained her bruised face. Those empty sockets were like the void. Its gaze seemed to pierce his core and even though his enemy knew not where he was, she did. When he made contact with the pole, her dead legs cracked against his back. This desecration of the dead sparked an unquenching thirst demanding every death of those who bore the mark of chaos. The sooner he'd wipe these bastards out the sooner their souls may rest at ease.

Darrik felt the pulse in his veins and the erratic beat in his heart. A game of cat and mouse was the furthest from ideal. This may be his only viable option. Around the maze and near the edge of the pool he scurried between spikes and piles of organs.

The northlander's keen sense of sound saw through this little ruse as he focused on his enemy. A great calamitous roar reverberated from his lungs. Globs of spit expelled with great force from his mouth. Though the boils and blisters covering his face, limited his vision it did not limit his will to end this whelp.

With both hands guiding the ax, they drove it through the spike. The wood split in two as the corpse fell from its final place of rest. To his surprise, there was no human lying in wait. The fool believed the human to be so brazen.

Within the pool of blood Darrik had sunk in the deepest layer at the center of the atrium. Slowly he moved without making a peep until he came to the bloody waters edge. His feet touched dry ground and with the blade at the ready he was only a handful of feet from the opposition.

The warlord turned when feet kicked off the ground. It all came down to this moment. The Norscan recoiled. His guard was broken and Darrik pressed in for this one and only chance. With the ax raised his sword sliced across the edge. The steel chipped and ground together. For a moment, the blade arced too high and all seemed to be lost. Darrik realized an untimely end should befall him. He jumped forward until the steel broke off of each other and the blade sliced on through past his open mouth and out the other side of his skull. The warlord fell back with Darrik collapsing on top of him.

The sheer force of the fall jerked Goddennine's wrist upward and sent the blade slicing deeper within his skull. The weapon carved through bone and brain till it split out the crown of his head and broke in two. The dam burst like a ripe melon and a deluge of blood followed by chunks of brain spurted from the hole. Hot and steaming, it stunk of rot like the man who devoted himself to these evil gods who held no regard for him or his people.

His armor cracked against the ground with enough force to indent where he landed. The body twisted and convulsed. The last synapses of what was left of his brain fired off in rapid succession. Darrik rose and yanked the ax from his foes grasp. He found the grip to be so tight it was nigh impossible to peel the weapon from his dead hands.

Being weaponless proved not as unbearable as initially perceived. With that great bastard dead, he had room to breathe. Darrik removed himself from that abominable pit and wiped excess gore from his person. He had to move quick.

At the opposite side of this oval shaped sacrificial chamber there were two wood carvings of daemonic creatures. Between the two within an alcove was a large and sturdy door. If this were his personal quarters then he had reason to believe there were weapons behind that wooden frame. It was a hunch he was willing to take.

Wind howled through the cracks in the ceiling. Gusts of snow snuck through the holes and swirled to their final resting place below. A few of the offenders lapped at the back of Goddennines neck, chilling the freezing human to the core.

Covered from head to toe in gallons of cold blood and organ chunks only assisted to hinder him in his frostbitten escapade through the lair of his most hated enemy. Darrik's eyes skimmed ever upward and along the wooden statues. Their gaping maws of unusually large teeth mocked him. Daemon filth.

Against the door he pressed his ear. Nothing. With a firm grasp his hand closed around the handle and yanked back. The heavy frame turned and relented sluggishly. Entry within painted a visage of a long and spacious hall supported on either side by wooden pillars. Stretching at the very end was a bed covered in animal pelts. Above the wooden frame of the bed, a mantel held the stuffed heads of horrible beasts hailing from Norsca. Each one stared down at him in silence.

On the wall near the side of the bed rested an ax on a display rack. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Darrik made haste for the weapon. A complete disregard for his own safety nearly cost the man. A glint of steel shimmered in the dark. The destination: His throat.

Instinctively, Darrik raised his hand, protecting the vital artery beneath his neck though that did not stall the weapon. The blade pierced his leather armor and ripped through the exterior carpi ulnaris and cracked against the ulna. Blood spilled through the hole in his clothing. Goddennine groaned. His cocksure focus nearly cost him.

Darrik grunted and turned on his attacker. A spry and young female stood before him. The fire of life burned bright in her grey eyes. This desire to live pulsed so hard beneath her exterior, Darrik saw before him not a human but a cornered animal retaliating against an aggressor. Between her fingers the bloody obsidian blade dripped his blood down the pommel and onto the antler handle.

She cursed him in her foreign tongue. Darrik needn't speak the language to realize what she implied. Low to the ground she stood on bent legs. Her bare feet were saturated in dirt and grime. The female slashed across the air and growled. Backed into a corner was one thing but being equipped with a dinky dagger left her at an advantage against the weaponless foe.

Long and dirty brown disheveled hair sprawled down her back and face. A crown of deer horns rested upon her head. Tattered animal furs covered her athletic build and preserved a sense of modesty unheard of within the barbarian kingdoms. Runes and bizarre tattoos covered what little visible flesh there was.

"Pagans!" He spat at her.

Rising levels of hatred simmered over like a pot ready to expel its bubbling fluids. Through gritted teeth Darrik watched for an opening. Her inexperience and quick thrusts meant he must be careful. Anybody with a blade posed a threat no matter how minimal their training was.

As he cornered her, she stepped back. Another step forward and two back. This process continued until she slipped up and Darrik pressed for the attack. The blade, in her panicked state, slid past his shoulder blade, falling short of a fatal hit. Darrik gripped her wrist in his and interlocked his other hand around her free hand and throat.

Eyes lay frozen in time. Widened, the lids peeled back to their greatest length. The muffled gasps choked on nonexistent air as each second that passed on by assured her life was throttled out of her. The Northlander struggled in his grasp, kicking defiantly in her struggle to survive. Darrik retaliated by driving the back of her skull against the wooden wall. Blood smeared the brown walls red.

Through the strain he enforced on her vocal cords she cried out one final screechy word that was lost on the enraged witch hunter. He watched as he repeatedly drove her head into the wall over and over again. Each crack grew wetter with each beating until her skull split down the back. The constriction upon her throat only worsened till it snapped like a chicken bone. Her dead eyes closed shut one final time and the corpse slid down the wall, leaving a slug-like trail of bloody fluids behind her.

At that instant, Darrik heard a shrill cry and realized just what she had said through his blood-drunk frenzy: Thavan. His heart rate slowed and the witch hunter returned to a sense of control over his surroundings.

The high pitched scream of a baby pulled him as he turned. Darrik faced the wooden cradle with apprehension. His blood ran cold. Each successful step felt like the world had shattered beneath him.

Lying within a cradle and crying himself into a fit was a baby no older than half a year. His short black hair and grey eyes and features bore an uncanny resemblance to his mother.

Darrik scooped the babe within his hands and held him at arms length. He kicked and resisted Goddennine. Managing a cantankerous baby was a task he could face. Lessons taught many years ago tugged at the back of his mind. Even children or babies born under the mark of their enemies were put to death less they grow to be as their parents.

So many have died by his hands. Not once had he claimed the life of a child, let alone a baby. In that moment of self doubt Darrik hesitated. In tears and anger he cried out to Sigmar his patron god for a means to an end. That means demanded he snapped this infants neck. To murder a defenseless baby sickened the man. But could he go against years of training instilled in him? Only right now had he hesitated what was required of him. He begged to Sigmar, falling on his knees for answers lost on him.

This babies death solved nothing. Is this what he wished to believe so he might carry on against a direct violation of his own people? Or was this Sigmar coming to him in his hour of need? One cannot say. He knew, were he found harboring this baby, they'd both be dead. His mind was made. The decision was final.

# # # #

(Thavan Vanamar / Location – Stäntrhein Cathedral / – Time – (11/12/19)

"Thavan?" A distant voice called.

…

"Thavan, are you...are you there?"

Still, nothing was said.

The passage of time was lost on me. There were voices heard and a figure discerned but everything before me was a black splotchy mass coating a white canvass. Its contorted limbs and crooked head regarded me with ill intent. All was but a blur.

"I was an orphan. You told me I was found by you and your compatriots at a young age. That is but a half truth. There was hope, hope that I may come to find my parents one day. But it is you. You who throttled the life out of them. All of those who bear the resemblance of my species have broken my trust...on your knees."

Darrik looked in my eyes and the black shadowy figure I saw before dispersed and it was him that took its place. "Thavan, listen to me..."

"On your fucking knees!"

Darrik fell to the floor, bruising his kneecaps against the wooden surface. He cringed when a searing bolt of pain traveled up his thigh from his old injury he suffered years ago.

The gun slid against his forehead and I stood there with tears forming in my eyes and a finger on the trigger ready to end the only man I may solemnly swear was once a father to me.

"I am unfit to serve the organization I dedicated my life to. I am an abomination in their eyes. I'm one of _them_." Each syllable was a strain on my vocal cords as the sad realization plummeted upon me.

"Thavan, listen to me! You are the furthest from that which you claim to be. I believed in you then and I believe in you now. Sigmar's hand stymied the killing blow intended for you. There is purpose for you in this life. I only wished to protect you from them. Those on the other side would pull you back if you'd but allow it."

No pleading for his life and no return from where this started. All loose ends must come to a close now. "Was it Sigmar who stopped you? Or your cowardice, Darrik? Because you didn't have the balls to commit to what you preached?"

Darrik regained his composure and it appeared he was...at ease? "On the contrary I don't seek redemption. I have committed horrible atrocities in the name of God and man. If my death offers closure in this chapter of your life then do not hesitate and pull that trigger. All I ask is you do not surrender to their calling. When there is no soul to turn to they will slither within your mind and poison you. I sheltered you from the taint of chaos for a reason. You were the best witch hunter this city has ever seen. Do not let them pull you to the other side. Do not allow all that you've striven for fade into the black!"

"Shut up! Shut up shut up goddamn you shut up!" I clenched my fist and drove the metal barrel into his flesh. Darrik wailed and a spatter of blood pooled from his forehead.

"You wished to protect me! You speak of hope and salvation and yet I have seen nothing that can prove what you spit. There is only the bleak reality that this world will take and take until you're dead. Tell me, witch hunter, is this the face of a man with hope left?"

The grey coloration faded away to a black inky prison that blotted all color out. The embrace of chaos rushed through my body in waves as veins blackened beneath the skin. A sudden rush of unearthly power washed over me. I nearly gasped to the flooding of darkness overtaking this vessel. This pleasure and power was growing on me. It was just like he proclaimed. Darrik only stared on in silence. There was no sign of disgust or revulsion upon his face.

"I see a man struggling within, living a life of duality. Beneath this there are two paths presented before you. Whichever you choose will have lasting consequences on your life. You may feel those around you have used you and abandoned you but the same ones who whisper words of power to you shall do the same."

These hands, they trembled uncontrollably and against my will. I wanted to pull that trigger and end this once and for all. But the tears, the tears never relented.

"You don't understand what they've done to me, to my mind, to my _body!_ What is there left to salvage when this world deserves to burn?"

His face was calm and sincere. It betrayed no secrets before me. The polar opposite of myself. "Listen to yourself, Thavan. Burning? Salvage? You utter words only a child of chaos would claim. I remember there was a time when you fought for humanity without question. A time when you sought nothing but a world freed from this daemonic curse. There is good in this world still. There is good in you. If you are so certain of yourself then tell me why you haven't pulled that trigger?"

A great sickness came like waves lapping at the shore but instead at the pit of my stomach. Nausea crept from all corners. As I stared down at him this overwhelming regret swallowed me. What was I to do!

Cold sweats and tunnel vision along with these trembling shakes metastasized through every inch of my body. I trembled like an orphaned child, abandoned and lost.

"It is easy for you to make these statements when it wasn't you dragged through the cesspool of society. You and the rest of my people abandoned me and those men who died for nothing. They hated me and damaged my property. Humans walked away from me and not toward me. They feared me. I've been beaten and slandered through the grime and piss in this world and where were you? Huh? Drinking coffee and festering in this chair like the coward you've become? Nobody came back for me! Nobody, Darrik!"

In hysterics I cried. Tears flew from my cheeks and I recoiled at this visible display of emotion.

Darrik swallowed a lump in his throat. A lone tear crested along the corner of his eye and made its descent down his eyelash and onto the floor. "I tried, Thavan, I tried."

The finger slid into the trigger. Through death, redemption was sought. Fury was my voice and should I surrender to the hate, what would remain?

"Ask yourself this, Thavan: What you seek is what you desire or the whims of them?"

I broke from my icy end and pondered in thoughtful silence. Darrik only watched. "No...I-I don't know dammit."

"Then come with me, and let's end this once and for all."

We froze in complete stillness. The end was all but assured yet why now should I hesitate? Why should he get the better of me?

The pistol slid firmly in its holster. If I am to be cursed for eternity, his death shall not be part of my regrets.

The wooden floorboards creaked against his weight. Darrik stood and returned a warm smile. He hugged me. He was the only parental figure I had ever known within my life and here I was prepared to snuff his life out.

For but a fleeting moment we were there and then without an explanation, a warm and damp feeling covered me and a sharp gasp soon followed. When my eyes tore from the blackness, I was greeted by an unbelievable reality.

A wave of dark energy split Darrik from the neck down to his chest. His grip faded as he plummeted into a pool of his own blood. My hands stretched to catch him but he was already out of reach. A strained face and shallow gaunt eyes locked into mine. The eyelids peeled into a widened macabre death-mask and his hand shambled upward toward me. His fingers twitched one final time. Abruptly, the arm fell to his side. Darrik had passed on.

Seriss stood before me. Blood stained all parts of my face and neck. A silent word mouthed through my shock and awe, "Why?"

She spoke, stating what I already knew. "I only acted upon thine desires. I granted thee amnesty from thy past transgressions. You are free."

Sadness turned to loss and loss beget rage and from that unholy concoction, chaos was born. I screamed. I screamed an ungodly wail unto the heavens and all of mankind.

Upon her I rushed with no understanding of my intentions. A balled fist coiled around Seriss' throat. A sudden jolt sent the back of her skull careening into the wall.

"Yes." She moaned lustily. "Give into thy hate and malice. Feed the rage that courses through thine veins. Bound yourself to hate. It will set the shackles free that bind the hands inoperable. This is the key in which you must maintain if you are to succeed in the coming battles. Darrik was a tool from a bygone era that lied to you from the beginning. You needn't the wisdom of an old, dismal being out of touch with thy current affairs. If I was wrong wouldn't you have killed me by now? You'd bash my head against the wall not unlike what Darrik committed to thine mother." Her coy and sarcastic demeanor dug beneath the skin like small razors peeling back the flesh.

"Don't speak of my past! I'll gladly sentence you to where you belong."

"Then do it." She ushered in a husky moan against my ear and nipped at the lobe as her waist ground against mine. "Desecrate this chapel with our union."

Goddamn her! There is no freedom. Until this war ends I will never be free. Against my better judgment I relented, tearing from her gaze and pressing for the door. Without so much as touching the handle I motioned with my hand and ripped it from its hinges leaving the discarded wooden frame to crash to the floor below.

Seriss made her voice heard one final time as I made my escape. "Your end-goal and mine coincide. The chaos and those who call you ally are the dagger in your back. I will pluck it from you and only then might you see where my allegiance is. They'll use you and discard you. It is not I. For if it were, we wouldn't be standing here."

Into the great hall I fled from that droning voice, from my responsibilities and sanity.

# # # #

Leaves whirled on past a stony sidewalk. Wind rustled the branches of low hanging firs. All was quiet on this somber morning. Or was it? A tear in the fabric of reality resulted and the winds of magic grew restless. A portal tore open and Zenara pressed through. Pinpointing Thavan's exact location was nigh impossible across the Empire of Man. A pulse of energy shot across the firmament. That clue led her here. It only makes sense that the source was his hometown.

The portal closed behind and Zenara stepped forward draped in robes concealing her inhuman features. Well, except for the holes at the top where her horns stuck through. Moving through the human realm was undoubtedly a risky gamble that bore dire consequences should she be found. Zenara knew it'd be wise to circumvent such scenarios.

Thavan took precedence above all else. All that mattered was his safety. May her guesstimate have been correct.

A great and opulent cathedral imposed itself upon her. The energy she felt, could it be within those walls? There was but one way to determine that.

Rays of sunlight pierced through the rainy skies. Each source of light scintillated beams of warmth upon the metallic peak of the temple. Zenara pondered not on the creation nor the spectacle of its beauty. She scurried forth and happened upon the door.

From left to right her eyes scanned and ears flicked back and forth. Nobody was within hearing distance and her gaze determined nothing out of place. An outstretched hand gripped the door and worked the heavy frame open.

Her small, obscured figure pressed within the small gap. Not so much as a soft hush left her mouth. Each step of her feet scampered quietly across the stony floor.

Zenara felt a lump rise within her throat. Each eye peeled back into full moons. Her mouth hung agape at the horror she bore witness to. Her skin crawled like tiny traipsing spiders dancing across her flesh. The taste of acid in her throat forced an instinctive reflex to swallow the unpleasant flavor. Before her the sight of devastation and destruction reveled in this once somber and peaceful place of worship.

Where to begin? Pews ran haphazardly through the remains of the temple. Others were upturned or smashed in two. The podium or what was left of it was pulled from its base and thrown into the middle of the isle only to be obliterated on impact. Pools of holy water once sheltered in basins now harbored a more sinister fluid. The precious liquid within was viscous and black like tar. At the end of the wall the murals were scarred and stained with the chaos symbol of Slaanesh. Yet this star was split in half. What was once an image of unity for the forces of hell was now something far removed from its original purpose. It uphold something far removed from its original purpose. There was no unity in its symbolism.

The paintings on the wall withered and surrendered to the black magic pulsing its way through the core of this temple. Symbols and runes pulsed over the dead paintings and desecrated relics of the cathedral. Iron crosses bent and reshaped themselves into the unholy symbols that embodied all that they went against.

Past the fallen podium and near the stairwell a figure rocked back and forth weeping a bounty of tears. Long tendrils of inky blackness splayed out from under him, absorbing all light and life. His left arm rose on high. It twitched as each digit bent in impossible directions. In his right, Thavan brandished a knife. The razor dragged down against his wrist and arm, draining the life from this shell.

Broken from her trance, Zenara plead for this to cease. "Thavan, I beg of you, stop."

His head craned up and back exposing one black eye. Black tears welled, falling down one after the other. "Zenara...: His strained voice mustered. "You shouldn't be here. Was it Grozen's plan to pinpoint my location? My ultimate punishment, is it nigh for jeopardizing our alliance?"

She could hardly believe the words that left his mouth. Her dumbfounded face said it all. "W-what? I came here to bring you home. Where you belong!"

She walked forward. Thavan fell back at her motion toward him. The blade fell from his grasp. His eyes darted to and fro. Each hand and knee worked in unison to pull him backward and away from her. Like a cornered animal he fled from her presence.

"Stay back!" He cried out.

In her tracks, she stalled though not without offering a retort. "I do not know what that daemon whore said but you mustn't listen. Look at yourself, Thavan." Zenara paused then pointed for his bleeding arm. "Is this the salvation you seek? Pain, misery and the final end; This is what lies in wait if you give in to this barbarism."

"Stop!" He pled.

"No, I will not!" She stated in defiance at his pleas.

Zenara passed on till there was no gap between the two. He turned and covered his face from her piercing gaze. Zenara crouched on bent knees and gripped his shivering hands. Thavan recoiled when she plucked them from covering his face. Instead of hiding his eyes, he looked up into hers and she into his.

"You are Thavan Vanamar. This man before me reflects upon his countenance and sees no hope. He drives himself away from those who care for his well-being. You tear at yourself relentlessly over the men that perished wherein no fault shall be placed upon you as you cannot be held accountable for the actions of your superiors. Tortured and beaten for years your species was a footnote in the rocky underground that became your home where Clan Vanmeek tested you day after day. And then, you learned to coexist with us. The very species that you'd come to see as the monsters that took everything from you. And when your faith in our species came to a head you protected both Ziv and Neeshi, placing their lives above your own. This bond forged over many trying months. And through all this, it didn't end here either. Hiseelia stole your virtue and your own empire used you. Lesser men wouldn't be looking in my eyes here and now. You are more human than those who've turned against you. Through adversity and strife you have overcome all that life hurdles your way. Thavan, the chaos gods will never have you."

Zenara placed her clawed hand on his chest as tears welled. "Beneath this exterior of flesh and blood there is a heart beating for the love of this world. If it wasn't worth fighting for you'd have adopted a new allegiance. Sigmar knows your heart. And when this journey concludes, I have faith your God will you see to the other side."

Nerves within the skin around his eye twitched and his bottom lip trembled. All these trials and tribulations scarred the tormented witch hunter. Only she acknowledged the adversity in his life. Only she described what he felt every goddamned day. Thavan emptied every secret through the glimmering shimmer of tears. Without missing a beat, she pulled him into her embrace.

"That's it, Thavan, let it out. I won't leave you. I won't let go. I promise you."

His crying turned to hysterics as he gasped for air, releasing a torrential storm of what he hid for months on end. The pain he released broke her heart.

Beyond where they embraced and looming over the duo was Seriss. She stood just out of reach of the chaos star tainting the once beautiful and ornate mural decorating the cathedral.

Zenara gazed upward and into the evil eyes of a being who held undeniable contempt for the skaven. She returned the volatile glare. If looks could kill, Zenara's glare was so profound it forced the daemon to pause ever so slightly. This skaven was a barrier between herself and Thavan. Still, she could not act upon her desires. Not yet.

"Thou cannot sequester Thavan from the truth." Her dark violet eyes bore through the sorceress. "You and your ilk and all those before you toyed with his mind. I only seek freedom from the shackles that bind him you foolish rat."

A low throaty growl emanated from Zenara's maw. "One more word and I'll peel you from reality."

Seriss stood defiant before the skaven. "Do as you see fit. It will be your last mistake daughter of Grozen – the failed abortion that believed she'd change that which cannot be undone. Until next time."

Before them the daemon faded into the immaterium. Soon, very soon, she'd call upon him for a favor she required. Zenara held firm, clenching him in a binding embrace, ensuring that monster would never have him.

"I feared that there was no home to return to. I believed my past transgressions were too great of an offense to exonerate myself of. What a fool I am."

She reciprocated the feelings he felt by smiling back at him in a kind and loving manner. "All I demand of you is to stop insulting yourself. You are worth more than you realize. I love you, Thavan Vanamar."

With a flick of her staff the wound down his wrist closed shut and the blood-flow halted. Zenara pressed forward. The heat of their breath intermingled. The pleasant aroma of the scent of her perfume intoxicated his senses.

"Zen..." He breathed.

Together the two pressed closer till their lips joined Between the tears and sadness and loss and despair, at this moment, lost in time, it didn't matter. For they had each other.

It took losing everything for him to realize the one person that mattered to him was beside Thavan all along. She tasted him and he her. Burgeoning feelings on both sides finally expelled here and now.

Their lips pulled back when Thavan winced, the winding down of emotions exacerbated the pain he inflicted upon himself.

Zenara stood, offering her hand to him. "Come forth. I'm taking you home."

Thavan disregarded her hand and only looked up into her face with dead, black eyes. "Zenara, this war must end soon."

Her brow furrowed. Why this? She pondered. "I concur, yet why do you speak of such things now?"

His mouth trembled and a lone droplet of blood fell from the lash. "I'm beginning to question which side I'm fighting for."

* * *

 **Long time no see? Excuse my four month departure. I had a health scare that affected my vision and could have led to blindness. I then got sick throughout all of December and early January. I am still here and I will still finish this novel. That is a promise to everybody that has been following this work. Please just bear with me. As I said some previous chapters ago if you wanna keep in touch and learn more about my personal projects join my discord. Otherwise, I will be here. Have a great day and I hope the wait was worth it.**


	13. Chapter 12

Of Atonement And Salvation: The End Times

Chapter 12

Last Light Upon The Western Shore

Written by S. J. Kandil

(Thavan Vanamar / Location – Grozen Capital / – Time – 11/20/19)

Shrouded in Zenara's robes I stepped away from the protective walls and safety of the Death Treader. There was a time when those metallic barriers restricted my state of mind and served as a prison. Now, as I bear witness to thousands of judgmental red and black eyes scrutinizing my every move, I feel the weight of my actions tear apart my resolve and instill in me the need to cover myself from their oppressive gaze. God, what I wouldn't give to hide within that sanctuary for but an eternity.

But wait, was this how I interpreted it as a saw it or was this but a fabrication of my mind ready for reprisal? Behind their curious furry faces there loomed no judgment. Was it curiosity or sadness that I betrayed their trust?

Without preparation, it felt like a bolt of lightning struck me from where I stood. Those few who I came to know from the missions we embarked upon arrived and brightened at the sight of my return.

Ziv, Neeshi, Teeshna and Varron all came before me. The lashing tongue was but a figment of my imagination. No such thing should come to pass. I was embraced by hugs and a sense of camaraderie I knew not on the surface world. Their glow they exhibited and knowing how relieved they were upon learning I was alive, warmed this cold vessel.

Was I so blinded in my hope that there was a place for me from my past that I had not seen there were those here and now who placed my well-being as their priority all along? Was I diametrically opposed to another species or was it my own hate that separated me from them?

Ziv pulled me from my battle within my mind when he spoke, "Next time you choose to leave, Thavan, we depart with you yes-yes?" He looked expectantly at me and I knew right then what he'd ask.

"Ziv, you have my permission." His large eyes brightened and the big behemoth of a skaven scooped me into his arms and hugged the life out of me. I yelped, losing Zenara's robes in the scuffle.

"He's right." Answered Neeshi. "The pack never abandons family-kin."

"Never." Assured Teeshna.

I smiled reassuringly at Ziv as he placed me on level ground, knowing in secret I'd need someone to realign my spinal cord after that endeavor.

Varron whom I lied to the most appeared no less relieved than the others. His hand came down upon my shoulder and he smiled. "What am I gonna do without yah, Thavan? God's know Ziv and I wouldn't be the same without your presence at the tavern. 'Sides, I think you owe it to yourself for a rematch after I beat you at drinking, eh?"

What I'd looked for all along was right in front of me. Had I only seen it sooner.

# # # #

(Thavan Vanamar / Location – Unknown)

The orb above me simmered through a blackened sky down upon my flesh. The moon was as the color in my veins and the black clouds heightened the piercing crimson glow it bestowed. All around me dead trees were upturned or rotting away. Their hollow shells embodied this barren land before me. A thick stew-like mix of sludge and red stained my feet below in the muck.

Though I do not recall this place I am currently residing within, I do know I have been here before. A sudden sign of clairvoyance you might ask? I am not the one to ask. And I've probably never been the one to ask. I must say I do tire even now as I take but a scant few steps across this desolate plane. A thirst rises from deep within the pits of my stomach, a hunger so fierce I find myself compelled to waltz across this eerie bog in search of water to quench this need.

I walked and walked and although the scenery changed, I must ask, had it really? This sludge continued to taint the heels of my boots and slow my movements. The trees came and went only to be replaced by more of the same drab, dead branches stripped of their leaves. The clouds above had lazily swayed through the sky onto some distant horizon far beyond my reach, yet something felt out of place.

Every so often an empty manor decimated from years of neglect would present itself a curious looksee that sheltered no answers. The hollow remains of a ruin introduced nothing of value and so, I continued on.

Crows cawed in the distance and a howl unlike any animal I have ever discerned screeched on the horizon. Its hideous shriek froze the blood in my veins and I searched for the source to which no visible answer came to fruition.

Resting atop of a hill was an old cathedral rotting from years of neglect and decay. From the distance I immediately discerned the roof housing a bell-tower - or the remains that is. The bell and the majority of the decrepit steeple caved in, leaving a great hole in the heart of the cathedral, like an old wound forever scarring this dead structure. The old rusted gate surrounding the remains bent inward or burrowed deep beneath the muck of this sludge that seemed to go on for an endless eternity.

I made the short trek toward its vantage point so I might glean some tidbit of information to aid me in my journey across this bizarre world. The gate leading to the cathedral creaked open as a gust of wind forced the old wall free from its rusted confines. The groaning whine it exhaled upon release of its rusted prison bothered me with some innate fear hiding beneath the surface. It was so lonely here.

Just as I thought those words in my head a crow landed beside the gate. Its black eyes peered through me like burning rays of light. The curious bird craned its neck from side to side then pruned its feathers for unwanted aberrations that affected its flight.

It cawed at me as I walked past the gate and looked at the cathedral proper. Its caw dragged on and on and switched over to sharp rattles and clicks. Was it, was it laughing at me? Through the distinct bird-like sounds there was an almost human-like quality to it. Was it even a bird?

I paused and looked away from that animal to the cathedral. The main entrance was supported by two doors. The primary one was closed shut and boarded up. The secondary lay smashed in, as if welcoming me to whatever might be inside.

What was inside might I ask? Up the stairwell I trudged. Broken stones, chipped and damaged from what I suspected to be combat scars, marred the once grand and majestic building. As I turned and faced the pathway from where I began, from this vantage there proved no certain answer I might discern. Far below the hill a great plain stretched for miles on end. Red ground and a crimson moon saturated the earth in bloody colors. The black clouds choked the light from this world. It was as if I was in perpetual twilight, just out of the reach of the sun. The path I followed held many questions and fewer answers. And so, with that notion on my mind, I turned and faced the interior.

As I popped my head through the door, I saw beams of light shine down into the desolate temple. Dust and other small particles glimmered through the rays from the collapse of the bell-tower. It smashed through the center of the cathedral where the alter once laid. Its home was now a circular crater where the bell lay shattered into multiple fragments. The wreckage and the entire interior for that matter were long since past the point of repair. The groaning, creaking of boards and the foundation assured me at any day now, this entire structure would surrender and it'd meet its end, same as the tower.

With no concern for myself, I traipsed through the dilapidated remains of a place that felt all too familiar. To the edge of the crater I found myself looking down at the hole in the chapel. Pews and holy scriptures had also met their end in that unsightly calamity that befell this immaculate building.

Beyond the hole there shimmered the glint of something reflecting light at the end of the cathedral. Finding myself drawn to the shiny substance, I circled around the devastation. At the other end I pulled myself up past the damaged stairs and onto the highest point of the place of worship. Even this part of the temple hadn't fared well from the collapse of the roof. Debris and part of the ceiling smashed in at the outer reaches of the collapse. Nothing was safe.

There it was: A painting of some sort was the culprit that drew me to this point. Walking toward it I found myself gazing at the object curiously with a craned head. For several seconds my face had not changed. As realization corrected curiosity, I had changed. Well, that can't be, can it? The figure in the painting was me. There I stood with an empty, soulless face gazing back at myself with eyes deader than witnessing oneself dead at their own funeral. Around me were other men with their faces clawed out. It was just me...It was always just me.

A looming sense of dread and isolation eclipsed all things around me. No longer had I felt comfortable within the confines of this abandoned temple. The weight of seclusion and loneliness constricted against my lungs until the act of breathing felt nigh impossible. I wanted out of here and away from this place.

I sprinted for the outside until I burst through and gasped for air. Oxygen filled my lungs as the light grew a little brighter. It was killing me! I swear! Standing with my back to that dead structure, I breathed with ease as I looked down upon the earth stretching forever. Where had Zenara and my compatriots gone to? Why do I feel this aching pain in my core? Why does it gnaw at my psyche so dear?

Gods, there came that thirst again. What I wouldn't do for a droplet of that life-giving fluid to grace my tongue with its cold, refreshing, flavor. Shower me in water! Drown me in the tides of life! Smother me till I cannot gorge any longer!

What in Sigmar's mercy was I rambling on about? Oh...I don't know...I-I can't remember. What did I say? What a peculiar oddity. Onward I must go, to eternity...

Minutes gave way to hours and hours beget days but nothing changed. It was all the same. I walked and I walked till all before me was naught but a distant memory.

Sludge and mush gradually gave way to puddles of fluid. The further on I walked, the waters took hold. I prodded my way onward till I was waste deep in this reddish fluid. Turning on my heels there was no landmass anymore. My muscles grew numb to the warm, tender embrace of the crimson fluid. I wanted to dive face first into that warmth but there wasn't enough. I needed more! More! More!

For God knows how long, I waded through the sticky substance. Lost and no aim in sight I gazed at the ground and motioned forward, shambling and slipping through the muck and grime. This continued till I looked upward and stopped dead in my tracks. Carelessness nearly guaranteed a quick end. Stretching out before me was a great divide and I stood upon the precipice to the bottom of a gaping scar on the land. The split in the earth stretched as far as the eyes could see. There was nothing beyond. No land or opposite side I might somehow find myself on. The plateau gave way to this...

Below my eyes wandered. A sea of salted blood covered the planet from where I stood and far beyond the curvature of this world. The edge glowed a lighter hue but the further away from land it darkened and deepened like the dark colors deep within veins.

I turned back and looked for my point of origin. There was nothing, only another drop off and limited land to traverse. Hadn't I started elsewhere? Wasn't there land here? I can't remember. And I guess, I don't care anymore.

Beyond reason and understanding, with arms wide open, I stepped from the precipice and plummeted to the chasm below. The wind whipped against my cape as my world faded and melted to the collapse of all I had ever known. All that mattered rested in that ocean.

Thousands of feet came and went until my skin touched the fluid. Was it magic that slowed my fall? My head submerged into the bloody liquids. The lack of sight, and muffled sound subdued this aching form. No air filled my lungs as I drowned in this sea of blood. I'd stay there forever in the safety of the waters as I submerged to the benthic depths.

Freed from the shackles of my life, I faded into obscurity. Above, the light of the world twinkled in these black waters. So far down now. There was no return. Bound to this watery grave, it wasn't what I craved but it's what I'd get.

I stayed like that in an eternal slumber until my senses erupted when something brushed against my leg. I woke. Eyes ripped back and unbeknownst to myself there was another single orb the size of my head staring in my eyes with an unblinking gaze and a slit for a black pupil. In the watery pits of this abyssal grave, nobody heard me scream. Air pockets blew through the water when out of the red abyss a sucker launched from the fluid. Puckering, it closed shut and speared my shoulder-blade, impaling me and sending me through the dark depths of the warming red fluids. We spiraled through the darkness as my senses and comprehension of where I was, was a blur. Launched and beaten through the black, I was spun out and into the sky, like a breaching whale.

I screamed, choking on the bloody colors. Only now had the realization of the need to breathe came to me. I was deprived of oxygen and flailing through the air. This only served to debilitate me further.

Instinctively, I reached for my pistol and to my worst fears, I felt, I was weaponless. Where had it gone! It was already too late. The creature flung me through the air and in turn freed itself of my skin sheath. Bone cracked against the sudden and violent release. I wheezed for oxygen in my lungs. The horrifying assault nearly drove me to a state of unconsciousness.

To my surprise, I had not fallen into the bloody void once more but instead landed on solid ground. I made impact on the slushy surface, away from the embrace of those warm, running waters, I tried to free myself from this imprisonment and yet my legs failed me. I could not stand.

Beyond my field of view behind me the sound of something emerged from the waters edge. Fluids dripped back into the bloody ocean as more flesh and mass ripped through the watery barrier. It coughed a horrible bloody moan and gurgled in excitement as I felt its eyes focus on me. The blood in my veins froze and I panicked. In vain I tried my damnedest to crawl from its ominous presence. Each second that ticked by it grew closer and so too had its hunger heightened. A wet, and sloppy slosh beat into my eardrums as its horrid feet dug through the muck and sharp inhales emitted from its watery lungs. It moaned an orgasmic trill, vibrating the fluids deep within its throat.

I reached out with extended fingers and dug into the firmament. Pulling myself forward, its haggard breaths grew louder and louder. There was no escape.

I flipped myself over when its long and emaciated hand extended with dagger-like claws reached for my leg. Molted greyish-brown flesh sloughed off of impossibly long limbs with tentacles snaking from its back with eyes and suckers on each end.

Its head – if one could even call it that, appeared to be reminiscent of the female anatomy. A slit down its face echoed that of a vaginal opening. Long serrated teeth, touched with a hint of blood quivered open and closed at the sight of my flailing form. The hood, where its clit resided, was a red slit for an eye. It pulsed and throbbed at the sight of my terror, staring in wanton hunger. The grotesque mouth widened and pulsed, hungering to pull myself into its quivering, cum spewing, orgasming maw.

Its caustic breath emanated against my face as slime drooled from the gap of skin and hot sticky fluids pooling against my face. I closed my eyes and prayed. I prayed this nightmare would end. Was it even a nightmare? Or was I trapped in hell?

All grew silent. The heat of its breath faded. and it felt as if everything had come to pass and my prayers were answered. How long had I sat there and shivered on the ground? Was it minutes or perhaps hours? I don't even want to begin to guess. All I knew, is I was scared beyond recollection.

Clamped shut I trembled when a hand reached out for my cheek, cupping the flesh, I recoiled. It had not been dissuaded by my action. Instead, it reached again and pulled me forward. And there it was again, that damned unending thirst. I craved water so greatly and intensely that the need to sate my thirst mattered above all else.

As if sensing my need this figure pulled me forward. The sound of running water and the crisp flowing instilled in me a sense of urgency. A basin pressed against my lips. Cold water brushed against my mouth. With closed eyes my lips opened and in an instant it exploded with the sweet, fulfilling flavor of fresh water. I suckled at the source like a baby desperate for mothers milk. Nothing else concerned me as I drove into this sensation and accepted what must happen if I am to remove this horrid feeling from the pit of my stomach. It was only water after all. And then, this would all end. I knew it.

From the stream of life I did what compelled me all along. This was my purpose. I needed this and nothing would stop me. Accepting what must be done, I dove in deeper, lapping at the bowl for more.

"Taste, eternity." The voice commanded.

What? I stopped right there. It can't be. It can't. Acquiescing to my own demands, mine eyes opened and what was once basin and water was no more an illusion to my mind. The flowing of water was crimson pumping beneath her skin. My mouth was firmly clamped against her neck, as I fed beneath split veins and pumping blood. I pulled from her neck, raving in disbelief as Hiseelia herself snatched me up and made me watch, watch as she stole my humanity out from under me.

In a sea of salted blood we laid atop the water as tens of thousands of corpses lay drained and floating above and below the sea of red. Their outstretched appendages were marred by the bite marks of myself and her.

She laughed, and laughed as I cried out at the visage returning to me from the reflection in the water. It was my face but with glowing crimson eyes and fangs to boot. Through the ripples my reflection bore that of a monster with twisted features, and a maw of fangs. Writhing in agony, I clawed at my own eyes, digging the orbs out from their home and in turn, blinding myself. It was all over. She won. She won. She won. She won. She's taken everything from me and I can't get that voice out of my head. I wailed and wailed until tears expunged no more. She won and all I could hear was her cackling laugh as she stole everything out from under me.

One year later...

(Thavan Vanamar / Location – Thavan's personal quarters / – Time – (11/24/20)

My eyelids peeled back and I bolted upright. Tears flew from their source and ragged breaths left these pained lungs. The warming glow of candlelight called to me from the nightmare I had just faced. The scintillating flutter of light stirred me. It felt like only yesterday had all this begun. And yet the scar running down my wrist to my elbow told otherwise.

Two firm taps on the door roused my waking form. Keys fumbled at the locks as tumblers turned and the frame opened before me. My servant Meeki was there to greet me.

"Master Thavan! The meeting will convene momentarily and you aren't out of bed? Forgive my urgency but you must...your face, you've had another incident haven't you?" She stuttered, expecting a lashing of words or worse.

My mind was on other matters. I overslept. Dammit, Grodmoor won't be happy. When is he though?

"Yes, another." I admitted against my better judgment.

"I'd like it if you refrained from mentioning this to the others. No good will come of it."

"O-of course! You have, no-nothing to worry about, Master Thavan! Your secrets are mine."

"Thavan is sufficient."

She jittered two rapid jolts of her noggin.

"Now, will you help me?"

Upon my request she had not hesitated to come to my beck and call. I sat forward and the exhaustion that had firmly grasped my core merely moments ago all but faded away along with that nightmare. And for good reason too, there's no justifiable point in dwelling on that misery, no matter how close it hits home.

Within my wardrobe she rummaged through my many witch hunter uniforms. The blankets of my bed fell to the side when I planted my feet onto the floor. I yawned and stretched. Bones seemingly popped and my body creaked. Damn, it sucks getting old. Was I though? Zenara claims her magic had an influence on me and extended my life, but by how long and what then? I'll stop myself there. It's too early for this kinda self diagnosis.

Into the next room I strode with only the faintest hint of modesty in the form of undergarments covering my privates. Sitting below the mirror on the counter was a basin filled with fresh water and prepared by none other than my assistant on the previous night. Looking back at myself through the mirror I saw the usual telltale signs of one who lacked any and all forms of sleep. Age might have been extended but the removal of these stress marks and creases failed to make haste and depart from this weary face. Black stubble ran through my white cheeks. Hair edging upon my eyebrows was becoming a nuisance. Fortunately, I may hide it within my witch hunters cap.

"It'd be wise to shave 'fore we depart. I'm already late, might as well make it appear that I at least am concerned with my appearance." I spoke loudly and into the other room.

"And bathe!" She echoed.

Cupping water within my hands I collected the fluids and splashed my face. I stood there and reflected on how she arrived within my life. This skaven is undoubtedly a boon that I opposed initially. Thankfully, I gave her a chance.

As the world continues to slide to the edge of no return, I find myself becoming increasingly unable to or find an inability to function on a basic level. She reigns me in each time.

One would think since that fateful day Zenara and I showed our true colors for one another that I might go to her. She is not only overwhelmed but I cannot find the answer I seek to give her clarity over the very reason why I tend to push all those away that get too close. What am I doing?

Running water like warm raindrops cascaded down upon me and washed those thoughts when I turned the knob and felt the relief flood my core. When had I ever just relaxed? When had I sat back and reflected on what I have done to those around me and that my actions will have consequences? Heh, I guess we never learn and people never change.

Standing there so vulnerable and naked was a reminder to myself that though I have overcome much and accepted the life I was brought into and the deaths of those around me, there are underlying faults where the cracks shine. That goddamned vampire! Just when you think it can't get any worse, somebody else steps in and delivers a deadlier blow.

Flesh and stone connected as a balled fist from myself slammed into the wall. You killed her sister. An eye for an eye. You should be dead. And yet, she spared you. That is a greater outcome than I could have offered her. If this is my life then why does it feel I am already dead? I cry out to God and man and nobody hears these silent screams.

To Seriss I find myself searching as she presents answers no other might bring forth. That terror is a danger to us all. Compelled and drawn to her, I am influenced by this evil. This defining reason is why I have striven so hard to avoid this monster. Her influence over me grows. She knows what I desire and long for. To continue a healthy relationship with the Grozen Empire it is pertinent I keep my distance...but I know, I won't.

Before long I was finished and Meeki continually assisted me every step of the way until she placed my formal attire of black garments upon me. The clothing was accented in blue and red and marked by the Grozen crest on my chest and cape. She in turn also mimicked my color palette. Uniformity was part of parcel of this empire. And that was it, the two of us set off, destined to be late as always.

Every day that passes I find myself fatigued beyond reasoning. A buildup of stress and near constant warfare and the end of days has a way with affecting ones psyche.

We moved with purpose toward the meeting at a brisk pace. Grodmoor's war room is where business and current affairs have been conducted as of late. This included all of those who pledged their allegiance to our side.

My hand ran against my neck. The soft fabric separating skin from skin contact prevented those in attendance from seeing the permanent scar upon my throat. And to think, _she'd_ be there.

Two guards bearing ceremonial armor and carrying Grozen bolt rifles eyed the two of us as we made our approach.

"Go on, Thavan. The meeting has already commenced." The two then collectively gripped each door and pulled them open.

I nodded, then entered.

A chandelier powered by bluestone infused light-bulbs and not the traditional candles of old illuminated the grand and opulent room before us. The massive girth of the light source demanded larger and more imposing support beams lest the great beast from the ceiling above cascaded down and onto the heavy cherry table.

Every single pair of eyes in that damned room all turned to face me. At the head of the table was Grodmoor. His piercing blood-moon gaze never wavered from mine. Was there hostility in his face? No, I think not. He was one of the few who understood my plight.

Joined in Grodmoor's circle were the many skaven masters and lords who pledged their allegiance to his new world order. Kreevan, Sneek, Zenara, Sorn and many other faces I had not recognized had all attended. But they recognized me. Oh yes they did.

Down the rows, Hiseelia, that skeleton bitch with a skin fetish and Neferata herself watched me from afar. Neferata sat crossed legged with a veil draped over her head. She offered only a cursory glance before she returned to her devices. Hiseelia narrowed her eyes and twirled her fingers at me. A slight head bob and a gleaming smile irritated me further. Smug bitch.

Seated at the end and closest to me was a newcomer bearing flags I have never laid eyes upon. In black she concealed her body within. Purple highlights accentuated every detail. The jagged edges resembled something more akin to a prison than something meant to protect.

Long rows of red hair spiraled down her glistening white skin like fresh fallen snow. On first glance I believed her to be a vampire. Something wasn't quite right. An aura surrounded her. It was dark but not reminiscent of the bloodsucking monsters off center of her. It was then I observed the pointy ears. Was she a high elf? No, that's impossible. Not with what transpired in Ulthuan.

An open seat beside Zenara was my destination. Then they'd stop staring. I hoped. That is, until Meeki opened her big mouth.

"My lords." She squeaked. "It is my fault that we were late. Forgive Master Thavan yes-yes?"

Why should she take the fall for my blunder? Unacceptable. I couldn't stomach the thought.

"She's wrong." I sighed. "It was my mistake. Pardon my intrusion. Please, as you were."

"Calm yourself." Reassured Grodmoor with a nod. "We were carrying out formalities. I'd like you to meet our guest at this gathering."

This being in question stared right through me, just like that crow in my dream. Silently, her eyes skimmed over my features and for a moment it appeared she intended to speak directly to me. But that changed as she looked on and whatever thoughts she may harbor were not for me to interpret.

"I am Vera of the Saatiss Leel Clan. I am the leader of those left who claim themselves to be Druchii – or, as you Old Worlders might refer, Dark Elves."

Her strong and commanding voice struck me. The cadence and inflection hinted at an accent from the lands in which she hailed but the manner in how she spoke demanded our attention. She was meticulous in how she pronounced each word and carried herself. How I realized that in a few sentences is beyond me. Perhaps sleep deprivation was the answer? I think not.

"The one who united us on our voyage to the new world and bound us to freedom would unfortunately become our downfall. For you see, Malikath and his mother, Morathi returned to our sacred homeland of Ulthuan which, as you might know, was devastated and war-torn by the concentrated assault led by the four chaos gods. An island blasted by hellfire and decay no longer may resemble the land we called home. Many were coerced by the call to return. It is believed those who harbored his command are no longer among the living. And good riddance might I add." She puffed out her chest in a warlike manner. The deaths of her people whom she believed to be traitors had met their end.

"An assault from the north of Naggaroth tore asunder the heavens and the firmament in which we walked and they abandoned us! They abandoned their own people in his everlasting lust for revenge! But we held firm even as we lost our first line of defense when our watchtowers to the north crumbled one by one. The men of the north fell to our swords. We have faced a great many trials and our people are fractured but under the Saatiss Leel and through my guidance we've overcome these travesties. I am here before you to offer our blades in the service of this great coalition as we have united under one banner."

"That's all well and fine. Yes. What matters to us is the important details; What is the state of your army?" Kreevan sat forward and gripped his glass of whiskey, eyeing the overzealous dark elf as he supped the liquid.

Her cocksure demeanor faltered but only a second when she glanced at the warlord. "The forces of Khorne defined the very term relentless. As with everything that has come before us, we repelled the invaders and smote them to the last bastard from hell ejaculated onto this damned world."

Poetic, might I had. If not a little vulgar. But it gets the point across.

"Every man, woman, and child rallies under my battle cry. Every clan separated by meaningless boundaries and borders all bear my insignia. Our armies are bolstered by human explorers and colonists conscripted into this defiant cry against the forces of chaos whether willing or unwillingly. Through many negotiations I have established treaties with the cold blooded lizardmen from the south who are fighting for their very existence as we speak."

Vera slammed her clenched fist against her chest. The metal on metal impact rattled imposingly in the meeting place. "You desire our pact, Lord Grodmoor, is that not correct? You wish to bolster your numbers with ours and our treaties and the ease of access through our lands and all that, that entails. Then my demands are simple: I require every gun and emplacement you might provide to establish the largest wall ever conceived. Then we might discuss how our combined might shall contend with a bloodthirster I have sealed away. Your ultimate goal is to establish the largest standing army in our worlds history. Then I present to all of thee before me, both skaven, vampire, human and druchii alike – these are the means in which you might find the answers you seek."

A long silence soon eclipsed the room and all those who were focused and attentive now ruminated in their thoughts.

After a long pause and nervous exchanges shared through whispers, Hiskrin had to be the first to speak. "Suitable, yes. Though even with your allegiance, we still require more before our banner. Our armies are few and far between, separated by landmasses both great and wide. What news comes from the other regions? Where is this information? It trickles through the network with no definitive answer." He spat and eyed his shadowy brethren from Eshin, looking for an engagement.

Sneek scooted forward and rose a hand before somebody else might speak and deny him the right to defend himself. "Silence yourself. Do you believe the head of intelligence inept at his task? This meeting shan't be one based around lies and smearing from the one who cannot keep his mouth shut. If you must know, those humans hailing from the east are facing innumerable numbers brought from the north. To slow the tide I have redirected many portals to divert their attention from humanity to the dwarfs. Precognition dictates their species as a whole may experience the greatest extinction second only to the high elves. And that is a price I am willing to pay to ensure our survival. It is no secret I despise dwarfs. Let us enter this new world without them, shall we?"

Sneek cleared his throat and proceeded. "The undead hailing from the sun-swept deserts of the south refuse to accept our hand in peace after we made our bed with the Lahmians." He extended his arm out to Neferata who in turn bowed her head.

"Humanity is another beast to contend with. I shan't foresee an offer of unity. Nevertheless, it is my duty to persuade them. As Vera has stated, Ulthuan will soon be an eternal burial ground of the high elves. This reality is true to us too, need I remind those present? Steal yourselves and consolidate your resources for none of you are safe from the cloak and dagger snuffing every throat in its path."

I know many within this grand empire distrust a no fur such as myself. Sneek actively worked in favor of humanity, though indirectly killing the dwarfs in the process. This was undoubtedly due to my actions on that barren desert floor that fateful day I saved his sons life. I'm not complaining by any means. It just truly surprises me how one action can change everything. And though I know it is wrong, I'd rather see the dwarfs go than my own people.

"Well then," Sneek cleared his throat. "Resign yourself to your post as the warmonger you are and allow those in a position with proper clout to function according to the demands imposed upon us."

Rising in his chair and brandishing a knife, Hiskrin narrowed his eyes and growled a low throaty hiss. "Watch your tongue shadow-dweller or I'll cut it out for you."

"Strong words...strong words. Advance upon me and you'll hit the ground dead 'fore you take one step." Sneek smiled menacingly beneath the cloth mask. Between his fingertips a blade slid. The taste of crimson was soon to flavor the wooden table.

More infighting ensued between the many members of Grozen. Not exactly a great first impression for our possible newest edition. Through all the bravado and might she displayed, this woman was desperate. It's why she's seated among some of the most violent killers, cutthroats, and warriors I have ever laid eyes upon.

"Enough!" Screamed a thunderous roar from the darkest depths of Grodmoor. A slammed fist beat into the table so hard the wood finish chipped. He demanded attention and so shall he have it.

"If civility and proper discourse is incapable amongst the two of you then I shall be forced to have both of you escorted from the premises and you will not return to this council. Are we clear?"

He pivoted between the two. Animosity and anger marred the Grozen Lord fed up with continuous bickering through the ranks. The two begrudgingly nodded and that was that.

"There is another point of contention that has surfaced in our previous gatherings but a proper solution has failed to materialize." Stated Zenara who took a stand.

"Supplies and logistics: How are we to feed tens of millions of soldiers? In the past our skaven slaves would devour each other for sustenance. Grodmoor has outlawed cannibalism. Our slaves are a necessary link to our people as they might tend to the crops and feed our soldiers returning from the front-lines. As more and more species come to the fold, we must face this head on as their nutritional needs must be accounted for."

Some murmured in agreement. The others, simply remained silent.

Vera turned to Zenara. "Naggarond is far from a fertile utopia. The soil is poisoned by ash from volcanoes and lacks nutrients. There are regions though where you may grow a bounty and farm animals too. With Malekith and his hordes of blind followers departed, much of our region is desolate. Help us and you'll have the land you seek."

Her dialogue was much softer this time around. No need to act tough at this moment. She presented a solution immediately.

Neferata cleared her throat. The majority turned. "As many of you know, my daughters have spent the better part of this year culling the lesser clans. We own large swaths of the eastern territories of the empire lost to the Carsteins. Slyvania and much of Stirland is occupied under our realm or those humans in places of power now bow to us offering coin and blood. Come and ye shall have the land you seek. Food is an encumbrance we have no need for. The creatures of the night will protect your people. Be warned: The empire of man may cross over into our territory. Collateral damage is not my responsibility."

Well, that settles that.

Just within hands reach a glass of water sat near me. A need to sate a gnawing thirst tugged at my mind. Gods no, it was just like that dream. I couldn't, I wouldn't resist. I needed it. As I reached for the glass, something wasn't right. My hands...they passed right through such as I had departed from this world and had become a spectral force. A warm and steady stream poured from my left nostril. I tried to breathe yet no air entered these dead lungs. Nobody saw me as I plead with open mouth perpetually frozen in space and time. And then, I was gone.

The whipping winds cascaded down and into me. The black void pulled and I fell for hundreds of thousands of miles into an eternity of stretching, pulling, black watery depths. Contact flung me into a realm of deep blue and violet colors. A swirling vortex tore through the firmament of a hell blasted landscape far below where I stood. It was cold and though I was robed, I shivered in the foreign land. Standing at the edge of the crater leading into the abyss was her. The separation between us was a scant few feet. Her black hair swayed out and flowed as if it were beneath water. A long black dress covered most of her skin. Were it not for the horns sticking through her skull, she looked nearly human.

"It's been nearly one planetary year since you last beckoned me. You have a way with picking the most inopportune time to pull me from the surface world. You know, I have a life to lead and a war to win."

"Our goals intertwine as does thy destiny. You canst alter that which is predetermined." She hissed, craning her face back so the glow of her purple irises might be visible against the darkened sky.

"Cradled in my bosom, I have gone to great lengths to secure a future for you and your people. If those below decipher your little operation, those above whom oppose the Great Four will be slaughtered by their watchdog Archaon The Everchosen. I, like yourself, couldn't have predicted the speed in which they'd descend upon the mortal empires. Causality swings at the speed of sound and we have taken great steps to alleviate the burden this planet shall mete out in the original prophesied timeline. Still," She grinned mischievously. "it's not enough."

"Thavan." She spoke sincerely and turned that instant to face me. "If your people seek to resolve the battle against the bloodthirster, you will die. As myself, it has also become disillusioned with The Great Four. If you but offer your trust under my fold, I shall grant thee the dark elves your compatriots seek."

"And at what cost? Hmm? What is it you seek? Why are you determined to see us claim victory? If the chaos come to an end, you will undoubtedly take the reigns and become our next threat. There is no escaping this cyclical nightmare."

She smiled and broke out into laughter. The over exaggeration was evident in the way she clenched her chest and faked tears. "You couldn't be furthest from the truth. Hast thou not listened to the very utterance of my tongue not once, not twice?"

"I have! Half the time you spout off in old dialects as if you sound more ancient and intelligent than you are perceived and the other fifty percent you're speaking riddles. Even you chaos women confuse me! Need I remind you where you come from Seriss; What your kind will do to those like us is unfathomable? This is your domain."

"Was, you ignoramus!"

"Oh, quick to lash now. Have I touched a nerve?"

The fire in her violet eyes had not tempered from her malevolent glare. Her lips pursed and she contemplated her next action. "The mortal realm is where I wish to reside. For the first time since I was conjured from the immaterial, freewill pulses as that of a beat from a drum in my veins. I might do as I wish and this world shall live if and only if, you harbor my words close to thine heart.

"And what is it you wish for me to hearken?"

"I intend to call upon thee. I offered you guidance on your past and I have come to collect the price we agreed. You shall assist me in personal matters. The time is nigh when they shall come to remove me from the equation."

"And who are they?" I questioned. The cadence in my voice shifted to an honest inquiry. The snide tone and inflection long gone.

As if her voice was carried on the wind, it dragged an airy ethereal-like when she spoke. "Four there were. Four there shall be. We first convened with you the day you single-handedly dispatched the bile troll on your first objective for Grozen. It was I whom snatched you from the world that fateful hour and granted thee the powers to overcome what should have befallen thine allies. Behind the veil it was I who built upon your weaknesses and strengths. Feeding your potential, I empowered you to use the black arts pulsing beneath your skin.

She smiled and reverted her gaze from mine. "Two we were, and two we shall be. Those whom I aligned myself to learned of our intermingling web. Broken from the yolk that enslaved them, they supped the reality of this land; By tasting future sight it was the four who dined in hell and absolved themselves of this travesty."

And so, her gaze found mine once more. "The four were called as follows:

Serisseeiana, The Daughter in Black, Virlisque Son of The Swarm, Skarlorn, Assazion.

Meddling against our own creators, The act of deicide touched our souls. A plan born of many nefarious ends bound us on this path to preserve this world. They intended to remove you from the equation once this comes to a close."

She nodded and gripped my chin with a black gloved hand in which I recoiled. "I can see your indecision, Thavan. Rest assured in knowing it was my selfishness that presented a fork in the road. You are more valuable to me alive and they are no different than those we turned our backs on. And so, I struck a preemptive blow and slain Virlisque, eternally sealing my fate against my kind. They will converge upon us. Together, I have no doubt we will vanquish them. Yet you need guidance over the powers within thine veins. Allow me to train thee. What say you?"

So much to digest and so little time. How am I to trust her? Grodmoor thinks it is a decision that no good might come from. Besides her, who else has truly shown me the way? Who has been nothing but honest whether their plans be nefarious or not...it is her. Must I give her the benefit of the doubt. Is this topic up for negotiation. Listen to myself – justifying these actions is borderline madness. Nevertheless, I have to rely on her if I am to survive their return."

"Do what you must." I muttered.

"Come to me." She beckoned with outstretched hand. "Place thine palm into mine."

Up and down my eyes turned from hers to her hand. A daemon offered itself to me and I...and I wanted to accept her proposal. We'd win this war no matter the cost. And what if that cost abolished me of my humanity? Then I shall be vindicated.

The gap shortened as hesitation turned to acceptance. Our hands intertwined and we became one. Searing hot white light emerged through the gaps of our fingers and palms. Intense pressure eclipsed all of my senses and everything around me faded. This sensation had not caused me any pain yet as I watched the straining in her face I could not say the same for my daemonic acquaintance.

She cringed, sinking a fang deep into her lip. Blood trickled down her cheek when I suggested we stop whatever she was doing.

As if the pits of the chaos realms channeled through her, she exclaimed, "No!"

Deeper and deeper her flesh seemed to meld with mine. Our thoughts, desires and wants all cascaded into one fathomless void. I saw the world fade out from under me and it was only us flying through the pit of no return. And then, Our bond collapsed.

Seriss fell to her knees, separating the connection we once had. The loss was unexplainable but left me longing for it to return. Upon flipping my hand over, I examined her handiwork. Within the palm of my hand glowed a chaos emblem split in two. It was identical in every respect to the tattoo upon her hip.

Looking down, I observed the fatigue in her eyes. She gasped for breath and clenched her chest. Blood dripped from the edge of her lip, staining her black skirt. For a daemon in this instance she eerily resembled a human. Perhaps that resemblance is what convinced me to do this?

Reaching down, I scooped her up underneath her shoulder and supported her weight. Seriss sighed. Bewildered and shocked, she accepted my aid without complaint.

"My gratitude to thee." Her inflection spoke true. She meant what she said.

Seriss snapped her finger. Before us the chaos wastes dissolved into oblivion. Replacing that horrid dimension was what I could only say was a muted setting in comparison.

A roaring flame sparked a beautiful glow coming from the fireplace. Opposite of that shined a welcoming bed lined with blankets and pillows for this world weary traveler.

Her request was simple. "Lay me down."

I did as she asked and aided her by getting her onto the bed. It was only then had I realized the sigil on my hand disappeared behind my flesh.

She, having taken notice, spoke before I might question. "I've imparted a piece of me into thee. The magic that flowest beneath thine veins will multiply to lengths thou hast not yet seen. Fear not, Thavan, I have only implanted the seed in which thou might utilize thine powers to the greatest spectrum. Your weakness of flesh shall not hinder thee. Your humanity shall remain intact as you so desperately crave. You see me as an enemy but it is I who has your intentions here."

She weakly placed her hand over her breast and imitated the pumping of a heart.

"The ritual was a success." She finished.

"If so, then why has it disappeared?"

Seriss' hair splayed out around the bed like black tendrils. She coughed in short bursts and motioned for me to reveal my palm. I did as she instructed, only for her to snatch my hand and pull it to her face.

"This is the means in which you'll subjugate that bloodthirster. With this at your disposal you may come to me at your leisure. It shall be as simple as breathing."

She appeared so calm and confident in this explanation that there was doubt on my part. Could this truly work?

"How might you be so certain of yourself when I have no understanding of what you've done to me?"

She smiled at my ignorance. "Opening thine mind was the necessary course one must take to let flow the power pulsing beneath your veins. This is but a taste of that which you are capable of. A suckle from the teat that'll encapsulate you by the black magic that floods your everything." She crooned. The tone of voice was thick like syrup with a buildup of saliva.

At the edge of the bed I stood. "Where are we?" I pressed.

Her eyes wandered. It appeared as if even for but a moment she must reflect on the matter. "I slaughtered the former beings who took residence over this manner. We're situated back on your home-world."

She pat the bed. "Won't you sit?"

Hesitation surrendered to her request. I placed myself at the edge. It was just out of her reach.

"I ugh, I have to return to the council. It is important I..."

"Shhh." She sat forward, reaching for my neck. Two fingers snuck betwixt the fabric of the cloth barrier and the warmth of my skin. The neck pulsed with blood as I felt lightheaded simply by her touch. I sighed. Why do so many have such a fascination with my scars?

The cloth fell and my skin became visible to the naked eye. She only gazed upon my disfigured neck. No words were uttered when she eyed the damaged flesh where two puncture wounds forever tainted my skin. This feeling differed not even in the slightest from feeling naked. Her piercing gaze could be felt as if I were bare to her eyes.

"If you'd like, I shall smite her for thee – to make her suffer as she made thee." There was feelings of strong hate carried on her words. Her question would garner results. I squirmed beneath my clothing.

There was a place within my heart where emotions festered. It is where I wanted vengeance. Yet, where had vengeance led me? Down a path of pain and misery and a bottle of alcohol to numb the agony coursing through these veins had only proved to me what I might achieve. Was there solace in this path? I know not. Nevertheless, She deserves what's coming to her but I can't bring myself to her nor might I ask that of someone else.

But why? Why? Why? Why? Why? The truth of the matter is, she hadn't killed me and neither do I believe that was ever her intentions. She broke me down and nearly destroyed me, but I got better. No, it can't be that simple. There's that little secret living in the back of my mind, tucked away and forgotten. It gnaws and it claws. I know in secret, there is more to this than I'd admit to anyone.

The truth of the matter is I liked...no, craved the pleasure and control she exhibited over me. If it'd last forever I'd accept such a destiny. In some sick, alternate reality I hoped she'd bear my child. Now what kind of a man does that make me? What kind of an amoral degenerate have a become?

And so, even with Zenara by my side, I keep her at arms length. Disgust, revulsion, perversion, these words all ring true to my clouded mind. So how am I to explain to the one I hold so dear to my heart that I am not certain who I am any longer. It is like my mind went for a walk and never returned.

It is at this moment it dawned on my foggy conscious that Seriss had been here this entire time as I drowned in my own mind. What terror she must have observed on my features was evident by the confusion upon her face. The response was long overdue.

"Refrain yourself from such action unless I request this. Do not, in any way, circumvent what I've demanded of thee."

Her eyebrow raised. A suggestive smirk and a nudge into my ribs was enough for me to realize I have overstayed my welcome.

"I will call for you when the time is right. And you will teach me how to utilize what I have striven to contain. In order to heal the world I must become that which I hate. I sometimes believe death is a preferable alternative to this reality."

My eyes widened and I smiled, looking off into the distance. "Although...if this should end with the chaos realm torn asunder and the death of the four gods, then I think...I think I might embrace the black that tears so dearly at my core."

She winked, licking the pink of her lips. Her hand snatched mine and placed it atop her breast. "Feel the pulse and the interconnect of two hearts. Ask of me and ye shall receive my child. Breathe and I shall be thine air. Hunger and I shall be thine sustenance. Reach and I will be the one to pull thee upward. The dawn of a new age has begun. We will devour their realm." She pressed my hand harder, forcing me to squeeze the full thickness of her breast. My hand could barely contain the heft of her mound as it pressed through my fingertips.

This world and the next collapsed. The smell of sweet perfume wafted through the dead air. There was nothing but silence. Within a black void of twinkling stars we floated together as she sat atop me disrobed and connected to my manhood. Below us the planet I called home was so far off it appeared to be a speck with its two moons orbiting the giant landmass of greens and blues.

Covered in sweat and holding each other as one we cried and her voice touched my mind as whispers flooded my conscious. "Until next time." She moaned cumming against my shaft as the stars aligned and a black hole swallowed us up. We both climaxed in the black void of space itself.

# # # #

Gagging. Choking. Bleeding. Vera watched from a distance at the male human demonstrating a most peculiar disposition. Thavan clawed at his throat and wretched on nonexistent fluids. His eyes bulged against pressure underneath the surface. Blood splattered against the strain from his coughing fit and stained the table in crimson.

"What is the matter with that human and why are all of you sitting there whilst he dies?" She asked what the majority already knew.

Thavan reached for the cup of water when his fit instantly subsided and his hands fell into his lap. The mania had all but subsided. Ragged were his breaths as he regained control.

"I can contain this daemonic problem of yours." He grunted through gritted teeth and lidded eyes, avoiding his orbs from gazing upon hers.

It was as if the mortal and spirit realm collided at once upon him. The experience jarred the poor lad and rightfully so. He is fortunate whether he realizes or not. The mind is a fragile thing yet Thavan's remains with him unto this day.

"Indeed, you can, can you not? It matters not to me who completes the ritual. You will accompany me on my return to Naggaroth and your words will be put to the test."

Vera's position was a precarious one. Leading all remaining dark elves within the known world tasked her with the survival of her species. Her pragmatic and to the point attitude allowed her to focus on the now. Though, that did leave her wide open should this all fail. She needn't bore herself with the details on the why or how. Success was the determining factor behind all this and she saw that the moment she laid eyes on him. It was obvious there hid something inherently wrong with that man. She felt the presence of daemonic energy surrounding him. He was a human yes, but there were dark secrets lurking beneath him of that she knew all too well. This male was an opportunity to rid her of an obstacle damming her path to freedom. And should he fail, another will take his place.

"Grodmoor, might I be privy to the arrival of your forces?" She turned to him and her countenance shifted as well. That face, it was a stonewall.

Grodmoor nodded his head back and forth. Numbers and armaments and calculations all played out in his mind. "The first wave of one million strong will arrive no later than 30 days."

"In time, we shall know." She stood, patting her armor and offered one final parting glance to Thavan before retiring for the eve.

If there was one being within that room worth keeping an eye on it was that human. Under her gaze she'd watch over that peculiar man. Oh yes she would.

# # # #

( Thavan Vanamar / Location – Grozen Capital / – time – 11/24/20)

Draped in black and departing at a brisk pace, I stormed past guards and emissaries – anything just to free oneself of chastising tongues and judgmental eyes. Through the throngs in a sea of fur and beady black and red dots I waded to a destination unknown, only to be thwarted and denied by a voice I knew all too well. Denial presented impossibility. Impossibility provided no escape, no escape from her callous disregard for my privacy. Again, she demanded an answer, except this time I heard every word.

"You promised it was under control."

A statement I indeed promised months ago only to be drugged from the depths, beaten and bloodied by her words. I was but a spec in a crowd of thousands. The gateway leading into the city was so close and now there was only the reality of my situation: It was time. But I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to submit.

"I don't have time for this lecture." I stammered out.

Past the gates I made a beeline into the city and away from the castle proper.

Zenara gripped my wrist, squeezing hard enough for me to realize what I already knew. "Then make time!" Strained and bitter were her words. Deception wasn't in the cards.

Upon my heels I turned and faced the worried sorceress. Though she may have been scorned by my antics, even now she remained by my side. The cracks that I formed of my own choice wore her down. She grew so very tired of this game.

This is what Hiseelia wanted all along. This moral quandary is tearing our relationship apart. I've broken the fist of a bile troll intending to kill my ally. I've slaughtered hundreds in a coliseum beneath thousands of screaming faces demanding more blood. I've done all this and more but I cannot for the life of me reveal this fear, this hangup that controls my every move.

"What might I do to alleviate your qualms suspended upon me like black clouds? What do you want from me Zenara? Do you and those around me wish to know what an unstable mess I am? Do you wish to hear about the internal war I am facing whilst being influenced by a daemon hellbent on infesting my mind? Would you care to hear about all that I have fought and let go to move on only for that bitch to get the last laugh over me? I cannot and I will not offload this burden onto you or anybody else. I thought she was gone Zenara! I thought I had it under control!"

So cold she was, neither moving nor reacting when I finished. This persisted. Nothing was said, nor had her features altered.

"Thavan..." She sighed and lowered her head. "All I have craved from you is honesty. Since day one I have offered all that you need to accommodate your lifestyle. I don't expect much and I wasn't going to lambaste you in public. You have done that to yourself from your outburst. I realize now that you are in the dark as much as myself and for that, I offer my condolences. I just need you to know you may come to me with anything. There is no judgment from me. And if I must reiterate this one million times over then I will." She smiled and laughed with that beautiful and sweet sounding voice I have come to adore. The anger and frustrations I felt, alleviated once more. She nudged my shoulder and we both smiled together, albeit mine was partially forced.

"Look around you, Thavan. There isn't just a war fighting within your head. Against the wishes of those within the higher echelons within our army, you are allowed to move where you wish, unshackled and unfettered. What if she learns of our whereabouts? Would you willingly jeopardize this entire operation and those around you before your reputation lay tarnished against the deaths of tens of millions? This is not the Grozen Empire you joined when this started. There are many within places of power that do not trust a human and would gladly remove you from the equation were it not for myself and Grodmoor. Listen to me, who are you so keen to impress? This isn't the surface and however your kind conducted themselves above-ground is irrelevant here. We know your loyalty. I know..."

Her hand reached out timidly for the face of the man she grew to love so dear. Still and motionless I stood as her fingertips brushed against my cheek. As this carried out, passerby's scurried to and fro and skaven Storm Patrols armed with bolt rifles moved in formation into the city proper.

My immediate action that precluded her from uttering another word startled the skaven when I scooped her into the air and hugged her tightly.

She immediately reacted and blinked us away from the voices and insanity. Within her overlook of her tower, she brought us here. It was now or never. I couldn't wait any longer.

"Listen...what Hiseelia did to me, it's...I...I don't know if I can attempt to present the relationship you seek. I want to be with you. I want to offer you the world. Intimacy is something I once longed for and now fear. Sex..."

"Shhh. Stop there." She asked of me as she placed her finger on my lips. "Is that what this is all about? You're concerned about intimacy?"

I nodded, averting my gaze from hers.

Her hand gripped my chin and pulled it up and into her face. "Look at me. Since that fateful day I scooped you up into my arms when you were naught but skin and bones I promised I wouldn't let them hurt you anymore. I've failed you. I continually terrorize myself at the horrors you've faced by yourself. I love you, Thavan Vanamar. Whatever that means to you, I know it isn't much but it is true. They say love is blind and perhaps I have become blind to this but I will stand by your side until I part from this world."

"Wait. I am not your charge. It is not you that must explain yourself. It is I who denied you the reciprocation you deserved. For that, I am deeply sorry. The life I have led brought me. It was never your fault, Zenara. All this time I have battled myself internally while you suffered alone. With a clear conscience I can say without a shadow of a doubt, no matter where I go, no matter what I do, I will always come back for you."

Paralyzed by love and lost in her gaze, I reached for her, pulling the skaven I hold so dear into my chest. She nestled into the leather fabric, and sighed contentedly. Her nose twitched, inhaling my scent.

"Promise?" She looked up and into my eyes. The cerulean blue sea-like orbs stared expectantly at me.

"Promise. We will do this." I declared. "I'm going to make this better. And should I lose myself to the hell in my heart, I will..."

"Together." She looked up and at me with her bright blue eyes. The tip of her nose twitched and she pecked my cheek. "We will bring you back together. This isn't a war you have to fight alone any longer."

# # # #

And together they shall be. No longer his mind will be the divider that separated them from the future they both believed in. This chapter of both their lives had finally come to a close. Intertwined in each others arms and lost in each others love is all that mattered in that moment.

But for the fate of the world a new path would befall the skaven of the Grozen Empire. A great and ominous war loomed over the horizon of their homes and their futures. Grodmoor's gamble upon technological advancements bolstered by bluestone shall come front and center at the Battle For Last Light. A leaden sky of gunpowder, blood, and gas would be the epicenter of a frozen hell that awaited them and the hordes of daemons and norscans ripping through the chaos dimension thirsting for the death of this world.

* * *

 **Hey there everybody. I know I am still slow as it gets when it comes to putting these chapters out but they are still coming. Due to this pandemic and having much more free-time, I should be able to churn out chapters left and right, hopefully! I hope the story continues to entertain and keeps you hooked. I am really looking forward to the next couple chapters and seeing what you all think. I can't wait to see this story come together for the grand finale. But that is still a ways off. Thank you for being a fan and stay safe in these crazy times. 3 S. J.**


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